The Zone Where Black and White Clash
by giraffelove92
Summary: "He was, and would always be, a shade of grey." A tale of mystery, murder, and unlikely relationships forged in the fires of a conflicted past. [Contains smut and violence.]
1. Prologue - Part One

**A new Dramione romance/thriller that has been bouncing around in my head for a long time now.**

* * *

oooo

 _Fire._

She felt the heat of it on her face, felt the sweat at her temples.

 _Pain._

She ignored the blinding pain of her broken ankle, hobbling along as fast as she could. There was blood on her sleeve.

 _Death._

She ran past the crumpled figure in Death Eater robes, not stopping to check whom it was. She didn't have time. They had to get to the emergency portkeys.

Nothing had stopped. Voldemort was dead, they had triumphed – and then the Death Eaters were attacking with renewed frenzy, and Harry was unconscious, and it was a _nightmare._

In front of her, Ron stumbled, barely avoiding falling forward onto his face. He was bleeding heavily from his side, and he gallantly carried the body of their unconscious best friend across his wide shoulders. He stopped momentarily, and she stopped as well, her eyes flickering around the forest, looking for threats. It was empty, but a fire raged close by, and she could hear the distant footfalls of their pursuers.

"We have to keep going, Ron," she said breathlessly, her chest heaving with the exertion. "The emergency portkeys are less than a mile away, and – "

"And I'm afraid you won't reach them in time."

Hermione's stomach sank as her wand flew through the air and landed in Lucius Malfoy's outstretched hand. He smirked at her, his cold cerulean eyes glinting maliciously. He was haggard and looked half-mad. "Such a pity."

Hermione and Ron both swallowed. She had been the only one with a wand. Feeling light-headed, she used what little energy she had left to conjure a weak wandless _Protego._ It flickered briefly, and then died.

Lucius clucked his tongue in amusement. "How adorable. Still. A futile effort, Miss Granger." He lifted his wand, and she saw Ron's eyes flutter closed. She stared at a spot on the ground.

She wondered what death would be like. Would she be with those she loved? Would Remus and Tonks and Moody and Colin be there? Would Snape, and Sirius, and Harry's parents? Dumbledore? Would _Voldemort_ be there? And Bellatrix Lestrange?

Or would she be alone, floating around in the darkness for the rest of eternity? Would she just cease to exist altogether?

" _Avada Kedavra."_

Hermione saw green flash behind her eyelids. She inhaled –

And felt nothing. Just the steady throb of her swollen ankle and the deep cut on her arm and the dust and sweat that covered every inch of bare skin. She opened her eyes.

The first thing she saw was Lucius Malfoy's body, which lay face down in the dirt. The second thing was his strikingly handsome son, who stared down at the body of his father with an unreadable expression.

x

 _She is coming down from the owlery when she sees him at the bottom of the stairs. He sits on a wide window ledge, staring out at the snow, his aristocratic features illuminated with the moonlight that streams in through the glass. He is holding a thick book. The light shines so that his hair looks like the snow that falls silently outside._

 _It is the first time she really actively notices just how handsome he has become._

 _She turns quietly at the bottom of the stairs. She is not in the mood for a fight. She gets two steps before he speaks._

" _Granger."_

 _She turns with a wince. "Malfoy," she returns coolly, her tone polite._

 _He is silent for a few minutes; he doesn't even look at her. She clears her throat and rolls her eyes. "As riveting as this conversation has been, Malfoy, curfew is in twenty minutes and I need to get back to my rooms. You should think about doing the same."_

 _He continues to stare out the window, and she shakes her head and starts to turn._

" _Do you think people can change, Granger?"_

 _She turns back to him, heart skipping. Had Draco Malfoy just voluntarily asked her a question? Had he been trying to…initiate conversation? Had he just asked for her_ _ **opinion**_ _on something?_

 _Surely not._

 _But then he turns his head, and she is hit with the full force of his argentine stare, and she knows it is not a prank, not a joke. He is dead serious._

 _She is Hermione Granger, and so, predictably, she has to answer; because that's what she is: an academic, an educator, a student. She is hardwired this way._

 _She clears her throat. "I think people are capable of changing," she answers softly, cocking her head. "Perhaps not their core personality. We are born a certain way – no one can change who they_ _ **are.**_ _But we can change the way we see the world, change our behavior, our actions, put our talent to better use. We never stop growing, Malfoy. We grow until we die."_

 _He nods slowly. His expression does not change. "Do you think_ _ **I**_ _could change?"_

 _She blinks – once, twice. "Yes," she answers slowly, feeling unbalanced. "I think the most important question is: do you_ _ **want**_ _to change?"_

 _He swallows, and she thinks she sees a glimmer of insecurity in the silver discs of his eyes. "I'm…not sure."_

 _She cocks her head. "Then perhaps you need to figure that part out, first."_

 _He does not respond, and she turns away again and heads back to Gryffindor Tower. He lets her go this time. When she begins to dress for bed, tuning out the inane chatter of the silly girls she shares a dorm with, she freezes, and thinks back to the book he'd held. It had unmistakably been_ _The Brothers Karamazov_ _by Fyodor Dostoyevsky. She has read it several times. It is the fact that it is a Muggle book that has her mind whirring._

 _Perplexed, she shakes her head and climbs into bed. Sleep is hard to come by. She stares at the ceiling for what feels like hours; finally pure exhaustion pushes her into slumber, and she sleeps heavily, untroubled by dreams._

x

"Malfoy," Ron croaked, his cornflower blue eyes wide with surprise. "But your father –"

"Stopped being a father a long time ago, Weasley," Draco returned quietly. He continued to stare at Lucius. "You three better keep going," he said, crouching down to retrieve both her wand and the wand of his dad, the latter of which he tossed to Ron, who caught it midair. He walked over to Hermione, and she took her wand from his hand, unable to speak. His eyes were a soft dove grey; the eyes of his mother. Not the cruel sharp blue of his father.

Ron stuttered. "But – I –You killed your _father,_ Malfoy."

"Yes," the blonde hissed in return, his eyes flashing. "I'm aware, but thanks ever so for reminding me." He rolled his eyes. "Go, Weasley," he snarled, the emotion on his face raw and exposed. "I'll buy you some time." It was the most expressive she'd ever seen him be – with one exception.

x

 _She stumbles upon him again the week after they return from Christmas break. She is on prefect duty, and she thinks she hears something in one of the classrooms on the sixth floor – she goes to investigate._

 _As soon as she opens the door, the noise level heightens. She stops abruptly in the doorway, watching with wide eyes as Draco Malfoy blasts a desk to smithereens. He turns around and punches a wall; she hears his fingers crunch, and winces. This is when he notices her presence._

" _What the hell are you doing, Granger?" he snarls, his cheeks tearstained and his eyes nearly opalescent with fury. She has never before seen Malfoy as a threat, until tonight. Tonight, she sees him clearly, and knows that he is dangerous – so much more dangerous than she'd ever thought. Regardless, she stands her ground and raises an imperious eyebrow._

" _Apparently watching you destroy school property and break your own bones," she says dryly, crossing her arms. "Dare I ask?"_

 _He turns sharply and paces the room, looking like a caged tiger. "No."_

 _She sighs and rolls her eyes. "Fine. Far be it from me to be your personal confidant, anyway," she says, unable to help the upwards quirk of her lips at the ludicrous idea. "I won't write you up," she hedges, "if you let me heal your hand, and go back to your dorm. Quietly."_

 _His hot glare cools a little bit, and he holds out his left hand to her in a hesitant gesture of trust. She notices that it is shaking. She also notices that he has lovely hands, bruised and battered as they are._

 _She takes his broken fingers in her own, and they both tense – it is the first time they have ever made skin-to-skin contact. Before it had been only glancing shoves with a shoulder in the halls or the accidental brushing of robes._

 _He swallows as she runs her wand over his hand, muttering spells under her breath as the bone and skin knit back together. He grunts quietly when the last bone snaps into place, and then yanks his hand from hers and shakes it out. He does not thank her; she does not expect him to. He just looks at her, and then turns to leave._

 _He pauses in the doorway and pins her with a cool stare. "If you – "_

" _Not a word," she interrupts. "This stays here."_

" _It better," he hisses._

 _She rolls her eyes and crosses her arms across her chest – perhaps she notices that his gaze momentarily flickers there, but it happens so fast, and it is easier to disregard such an odd complication. "You know," she says slowly, "if you ever need anyone to – "_

" _To talk to?" he says incredulously, his lips curving up in a half-smile, half-sneer. "Really Granger?"_

 _She narrows her eyes. "I didn't actually expect you to say yes," she says acidly, "but I thought I'd offer anyway. No need to be rude."_

 _He steps closer to her, and she resists the urge to back away. His eyes are angry again. "We're not_ _ **friends**_ _, Mudblood," he says hotly, crowding into her personal space and staring down at her._

" _Don't I know it," she mutters lowly. She raises an eyebrow, but the slur no longer affects her like it used to. Besides – he doesn't mean it. She does not know how she knows this, exactly, but the word sounds hollow in his mouth, lingering limply in the air around them before it dissipates._

" _Then you should know that this," he says hatefully, gesturing to the small space between them, "means_ _ **nothing**_ _, Granger. Nothing."_

 _She cannot help the smile that curls on her face. "Are you trying to convince me, or yourself?" she goads, amused. "Believe me when I say I have no delusions about your character or our hostile relationship with one another. I've lived it for the past six years. So who, exactly, are you addressing?"_

 _His nostrils flare, and his eyes flicker across her face. "You're a stupid bint, Granger."_

 _She smiles again at his expense. "Out of all the insults you could have used Malfoy, you happened to pick the_ _ **one**_ _thing that we both know has_ _ **no**_ _truth to it." She throws her head back and laughs. "I am many things, Draco Malfoy, but stupid isn't one of them."_

 _He growls in irritation and steps forward, coming even closer. "Just stay_ _ **out**_ _of it, Granger," he says hotly. He is so close that his breath puffs out onto her cheek. It smells like the green apples he is so fond of. The smile falls from her face, and she is unable to move, caught in his furious stare. "Stay out of my business. Stay away from me." He pulls back abruptly, and uncertainty flickers across his features so briefly that she almost thinks she imagines it. "You're too nosy for your own good," he continues, stepping back through the doorway. "Make sure you don't stick your nose where you might get hurt, Granger. It's not safe."_

 _Then he turns and leaves, and she is left reeling in the abandoned classroom amongst the mangled remains of several desks. She pushes a sliver of wood with her toe, and exhales through her nose, trying to remove the scents of pine and sandalwood and whisky and rain from her nostrils. It doesn't work._

 _It is only when she gets back to her dorm that she thinks about his parting words._ _ **It's not safe**_ _._

 _What isn't safe? What had he been talking about?_

 _She doesn't know, exactly, but she does know one thing:_

 _Draco Malfoy has given her a warning._

x

For the first time, she spoke, her voice hoarse with smoke inhalation. "What do you mean 'buy us some time'?" she asked suspiciously.

"I mean," he said impatiently, pointing his wand in the direction from whence they came, "that there are more than a few rogue Death Eaters who are still chasing you, and who knows what else." His eyes narrowed. He nodded to Harry's limp form. "You won't get very far. I can slow them down, give you a chance."

She put a hand on her hip. "Come with us, Draco," she commanded, narrowing her eyes. "We can get you out of here."

He snorted, and then stepped away from them, raising his wand. Drawing on the fire nearby, he sent a barrage of flames in a long line between them in a beautiful display of magic that would have had both Dumbledore and Voldemort nodding in appreciation. She lunged towards it, but was pulled back by Ron. When she tried to dampen it, it wouldn't budge.

"Don't do this, Malfoy," she said desperately, panicking as she saw shapes materialize through the trees. "You can't just give up like this. _Please."_

He curled his lip at her and rolled his eyes. "You're so dramatic," he drawled. "I'm not giving up, Granger. I'm _picking a side._ That line we once spoke of is a bit clearer, now."

She swallowed, and tears gathered in her eyes.

x

 _This time it is he that stumbles upon her, and neither of them walks away._

 _Hermione paces on the shore of the lake where she'd been reading, her arms crossed and her brow furrowed. He lounges against a boulder and idly draws in the sand with a stick._

" _Because it's what's right," she finally says. "I'm doing the right thing, the good thing."_

 _He snorts and looks up at the sky, a sardonic smile pulling at the corners of his lips. "Right and good?" he asks, a clear note of skepticism ringing in his voice. "Right and good to who, Granger?" He pauses when she frowns. "Right and good to you? To me? What about my father? My crazy aunt? They're doing what's right and good to them. Their morals are not the same as yours, if they have any at all. So how, exactly, do you define what 'right' and 'good' are?"_

 _She licks her lips and wrings her hands. "I don't know," she responds slowly, feeling somewhat stupid for not having a better answer. "It's the standard, I suppose – the societal norm. Most people just_ _ **know,**_ _Draco," she says, impassioned enough that she does not realize that she has used his first name. "There's a line. It's not always clear, but it's clear enough."_

 _He stands. "That's the difference between you and me, Granger," he says coolly, scuffing his shoe along the ground. "I don't see that line clearly enough. I don't feel comfortable making choices – choosing a side, if you like – when I'm not a hundred percent sure where that line is." He squints up at the sky, bright and blue and full of fluffy clouds. "I may have already crossed it," he finishes. He looks her in the eyes one last time, his face unreadable, and walks away, hands in his pockets._

 _She stares after him. For some reason, she feels like she has failed._

x

She swiped angrily at her tears. "You can't just choose a side _now –_ not when everything is over. Not when it's all said and done. Voldemort's gone, and you can come with us and be free of this – "

She saw him smile fully across the sweltering flame, and was struck with how gorgeous he looked when he grinned – she had never seen him smile so recklessly, toothy and unfettered.

"I don't think I was ever meant to survive this, Granger," he said, his features crinkling with something that looked suspiciously like relief. "I think I always knew that. I'm ready. And if I'm able to give my life doing something worthwhile for once, then that's all right with me." He shrugged. "I've made my peace."

"No!" she said angrily. "I won't let you do this. I won't have you just _sacrifice_ yourself –"

"Listen, Granger, I'd really love to chat about this," he interrupted teasingly, "but I've been following you this entire time, trying to keep you safe, and if you ruin all my hard work, I'm going to make your life a living hell when we get to the afterlife." He smiled cheekily. "Now please, let me be my badass self, and get going. Shoo."

She screamed in frustration, furious at his nonchalance. "Malfoy, please – "

Draco's face hardened. He looked at Ron, who was looking more than a little dazed. "Go, Weasley," he said quietly. "Get her and the bloody Chosen One out of here, yeah? I think you three have done enough for the world, and the rest of us are kind of tired of trying to live up to it, if we're being honest here."

He lifted his wand right as an acromantula came scuttling out of the trees. He blasted it away from him, but another took its place. He blasted that one too, and turned to them one last time. "GO, damn it – go _now_!"

She sobbed as Ron grabbed her arm, grunting as he tried to pull her away. She struggled, watching in horror as two masked figures came out of the trees and cast at Draco – he deflected them easily, killing one and stunning the other, but more acromantulas poured out from the trees, and, stuck behind a wall of fire, attacked the only live prey that was left.

" _Draco!"_ she screamed, desperately trying to lunge out of Ron's iron grip. "Draco, no, Draco – Ron, please, we can't just leave him!"

Ron looked sad for her. As much as he had hated Malfoy, his grudge was cast aside quickly in the face of the Slytherin's impending death. "I'm sorry, Hermione," he said, hoisting Harry further up on his shoulder. "It's too late. He made his choice." He tugged on her arm again, and she realized how pale he was, how weak. "Don't dishonor his last wishes. We need to go."

She wept, looking through the fire one last time. The boy – man – in question was still fighting, and he was joined by a few more Death Eaters – at this point, the acromantulas were indiscriminate about their prey, and many of them were distracted with the prospect of fresh meat. Still, Draco was set upon by five or six of them, and she sobbed when she saw him finally fall, blasting the rest of the spiders away from him with a powerful burst of magic that managed to take out a few Death Eaters as well. Then he was hidden from her sight behind the flames, and she closed her eyes.

She sniffed, and then turned toward Ron. Wordlessly, she grabbed his hand, and they took off through the trees towards their destination. There weren't many Death Eaters left – most of them had disappeared upon Voldemort's demise, and the few that were remaining were being dealt with by the acromantulas or the rest of the Order that still remained behind, fighting. But for now, the three of them needed to get back to the Burrow; they were wounded, and still primary targets for any living Death Eaters, and there was really nothing more that they could do to help. Draco had been right: they _had_ done enough. More than enough.

And now he had, too. She continued to cry as they reached the warded group of portkeys, and even still as they whirled through space clutching an old hat. When they arrived, she tended to Harry and Ron's medical needs before her own, and then they sat in silence, waiting.

She wondered who would come back home.

x

 _It is a warm Monday evening, and she is walking through the halls when a dry hand claps over her mouth and another wraps around her waist and pulls her into a shadowy alcove that sits hidden behind a tapestry. She is about to drive her heel into the toe of her assailant when she is abruptly let go. She draws her wand, and twirls._

 _Draco Malfoy stares down at her, looking troubled. "Granger – "_

" _Listen, Malfoy, you can't just go around accosting women in the halls, perhaps you could have asked_ _ **politely**_ _if you'd wanted – "_

" _Hush." The simple word is soft and heavy and has her mouth clacking closed. There is something in his eyes that gives him away._

 _She looks at him and swallows, her eyes wide. "What have you done?" she asks lowly, the hot feel of betrayal settling like an anchor in her stomach. Dread curls around her spine. "Malfoy, what have you done?"_

 _He exhales heavily through his nose, and his nostrils flare. "Something terrible," he says, his voice wavering. "You need to go get Potter and Weasley and the Weaselette – "_

" _Don't call her that, her name is Ginny – "_

" _ **Listen**_ _to me!" he says harshly, his mouth curled into a snarl that is less threatening than it is heartbreaking. He takes her by the shoulders and grips her tightly with his fingers. "Go get your friends," he orders sharply. "And get out of the castle."_

 _She brings her hands up to wrap around his wrists. "Why? What's wrong, Draco?"_

 _His eyes flicker with something unfamiliar when she uses his first name. "Just…trust me."_

 _She shakes her head. "I don't. Perhaps I would if you would just tell me_ _ **what**_ _is going on – "_

" _I don't have time to explain!" he says through clenched teeth, sounding desperate. He runs his hands up her neck and around her jaw to cup her cheeks. Her eyes widen. "Death Eaters, Granger – including my crazy aunt – are about to be in the castle tonight."_

 _She sucks in a breath. She wants to ask him how, ask him why, ask him_ _ **how could you?**_ _; but her rational brain takes over, and she exhales shakily, looking at him determinedly. "How much time?"_

 _He seems relieved. "Twenty minutes. Maybe."_

 _She nods, and jerks when he swipes his thumb across her cheek. "Maybe…" He swallows, trailing off._

" _Maybe in another life," she offers with a tight smile. "I think I would have liked being friends with you, you know."_

" _Yeah," he says breathily, letting his hands drop from her face. "Maybe." He turns, and looks back at her as he pushes aside the tapestry. His face is unreadable, his eyes a cold grey. "See you around, Granger," he whispers._

" _Stay safe," she says tremulously, feeling her heart ache when she realizes that she means it._

 _He gives her a small smile, and then strides away, the sound of his boots fading as he turns a corner. She stands there for another moment, in the dark, with the amazing smell of his aftershave lingering in the air. She closes her eyes, and gives herself a moment to mourn the corruption of a boy with such incredible potential._

 _And then she flees._

x

Draco stared up at the sky, watching as the oranges and pinks of dusk started to fade to indigo. Smoke curled up into the air in lazy tendrils, and the smell of fire and death clung to the inside of his nostrils. He thought of Hermione Granger, and of how kind she had been to him – even though he'd done a thousand things to hurt her over the years, she had been so forgiving.

She was a remarkable human being. He was glad that he could do her this favor; to repay her for all of her patience and forgiveness. He was happy that she was safe. She, and Potter and Weasley, deserved that more than anyone. They deserved a happy ending. They'd earned it. He was grateful that he had played a part in keeping them alive.

It had been a last ditch effort at honor. He thought he'd done a pretty good job, for someone who had never done anything _remotely_ honorable. It was a good way to die.

He was just waiting. That last acromantula hadn't quite finished the job, and now he was waiting for the venom to reach the rest of his body. It seemed torturously slow. He'd been lying here for almost an hour, now. The spider bite on his left shoulder throbbed with indescribable pain, but luckily the arm had gone numb. The rest of his body was on fire. He could feel his organs start to stutter and fail, and was anxious to get it over with.

He heard an odd noise through the steadily increasing ringing in his ears. Someone was shouting, running towards him – a rogue Death Eater, perhaps, come to finish the job. Or one of the Order, come to watch him die; perhaps they would be merciful and end it for him.

"Draco!" A pause. "Oh, fuck."

He coughed, blinking tears out of his eyes. A pair of familiar bright blue eyes hovered above him. A second pair, hazel in color, joined them. A shock of red hair was bright, even through his blurry vision.

"Blaise," he managed to say. "Weasley." He felt something bubble up in his throat. Blaise swore and turned him on his side, which caused Draco to shout out with unearthly pain. Black-tinged blood dribbled from his lips and soaked into the dirt. He sobbed, unable to keep the tears from streaming down his face. He felt like every molecule in his body was slowly being ripped apart.

"Kill me," he stuttered out. "P-please." He spit out more venom and blood. The taste was bitter and sour on his tongue.

"No can do, mate," the interchangeable Weasley brother said, his voice annoyingly chipper. Draco thought it might be one of the twins. "You see, this whole saving lives thing works both ways. You can't have all the credit, you sneaky Slytherin."

Blaise hissed in irritation. He turned away from Draco's body. "Oi! Weasley! No, not you Charlie, you tosser – I need you to help me lift him. The other one. The pretty one. Yes, you. Run and go grab a healer or a professor. We need to get him to St. Mungo's right away. And Parkinson, send someone over with a stretcher, would you?"

He turned back to Draco and laid the suffering blonde back onto his back. Draco groaned. "No. K-hill me."

Blaise patted him on the chest, which made Draco yell out in pain. "Oops. Sorry mate. Listen, Draco, we're going to get you to the hospital, all right? Everything is going to be all right." The cerulean eyes that Draco grew up with were uncharacteristically warm, and looked worried.

"Don't…get," he managed, "all Hufflepuff on me…now. The way you're…t-talking…" He trailed off, and felt some measure of glee when his old friend scowled at him. "Blaise." He became serious again. "I can't…move. I'm d-dye-hing. Please. K-hill…me."

Blaise looked like he was in pain. "Don't ask me to do that, Draco," he said quietly. Draco felt a hand on his ankle, and he looked down to see Weasley stare at him with annoyingly soft eyes.

Ugh. Bloody Gryffindors.

He breathed out heavily through his nose. Within seconds Blaise and the Weasley twin stood, and he saw two more redheads and the unmistakable form of Pansy Parkinson gather around his stretcher.

He vaguely heard the words that they said as they lifted him onto the stretcher – he could only howl in pain. He faded in and out of consciousness. The last thing he heard was Pansy's teary voice as she stroked his hair.

"Everything's going to be okay, Draco," she whispered quietly. He looked up into her eyes; cobalt blue, blurred with tears. "You're going to be all right."

He closed his eyes, and slipped into slumber.

oooo

* * *

 **I know it isn't much to go on – but review if you feel so inclined. Don't worry; I'm not giving up on** _ **She Rises.**_ **Trust me. I just needed to start this one to get it out of my mind. It's been scratching away in there for a while.**

 **Anyways, I'm not going to tell you anything about it. That takes the mystery out of it.**

 **Love you guys.**

 **xoxo**

 **Giraffe :)**


	2. Prologue - Part Two

**Just wanted to let y'all know that She Rises chapter 24 will be up in the next couple of days.**

 **Please read and review! The next chapter is where the fun really begins. :)**

* * *

oooo

"And you have this memory with you today?"

George shuffled his feet. He nodded. "Yes, Justice Broadbent."

The older man, head of the Wizengamot now that Voldemort was gone, held his hand out. George placed the small flask in his hand. "Personally, I don't think it necessary. Miss Granger has given more than enough memories to clear young Mister Malfoy of any charges," Broadbent said, looking somewhat irritable. "But it will be good to have it on file."

He uncorked the vial, and poured the silvery wisp of George's memory into the pensieve. "Shall we?" he asked, laying aside his plum-colored hat. George nodded, and they tipped forwards into the giant basin and fell down into the memory together.

 _George stands in the dim hallway, staring at the three Death Eaters in front of him. They have backed him into a corner, and he sneers at them, his eyes blurry with tears._

" _Come on, Weasley," Rookwood croons, his teeth bared in a savage grin. "Don't you want to join your twin?" he asks mockingly._

" _We'd do it quick, just a killing curse to the chest and you'd be gone," Goyle Sr. adds, raising his wand. "And then the two of you would be reunited. Forever."_

 _George huffs out a laugh. "I can survive just fine without Fred, but thanks ever so," he returns; the truth of the statement grips his heart in an icy fist. Fred would punch him in the face if he saw George just give up so easily. And his mother would be even more devastated if she were to lose a second son._

 _No. It is not an option. If they kill him, he will take one of the bastards with him._

 _From out of nowhere, a green flash of light illuminates the hallway; the killing curse does not come from one of the Death Eaters' wands. Instincts on high alert, he uses the distraction to stun one of the other ones, and then another killing curse sails right through the shield that Augustus Rookwood desperately puts up. It hits the man in the chest, and he drops like a sack of flour, his eyes wide open in shock._

 _He turns towards the shadows, and a figure steps out, dressed all in black. George raises his wand._

" _Honestly, Weasley, if I'd wanted to hurt you, I would have had ample opportunity," Draco Malfoy drawls with a roll of his eyes. "Lower your wand before you put your eye out."_

 _George scowls. The git stands perfectly at ease, his face smeared with a streak of blood and his hair messy. His boots are stained with mud, and his jaw is darkening with a bruise._

 _George hates him for a moment, because while the rest of them look like hell, Draco bloody Malfoy manages to make it look fashionable. He looks like he's just walked out of a Muggle action film, with stylishly tousled hair and dirt smeared across his forehead. He even sweats attractively._

" _You…" George clears his throat, his voice hoarse with smoke and grief. "You saved my life."_

 _Draco scoffs. "I was aiming for you," he says with a shake of his head. "Alas, sometimes friendly fire does happen. A real tragedy, that. Very unfortunate."_

 _He looks down at the three crumpled forms on the ground and George flinches when he flourishes his wand and casts a muttered_ _ **Avada Kedavra**_ _at Avery, the one George had stunned. George looks up at him with wide eyes._

 _A satisfied smirk spreads across the Slytherin's aristocratic, annoyingly handsome features. He looks back up and shrugs. "Whoops."_

 _George cannot help the way his mouth drops open. Malfoy begins to walk past him, and then stops at his shoulder. "See you around, Weasley," he says quietly, and then looks George in the eyes one last time before striding off down the hall, disappearing into the shadows from whence he came._

* * *

oooo

"What do you mean 'I can't see him'?"

Hermione clenched her jaw, crossing her arms and glaring at the petite nurse who stared up at her with doe brown eyes.

"Miss Granger," the nurse began again, "he's been in agonizing pain for two weeks; we have to monitor him constantly just in case his heart stops – which it does, often. We're draining venom from his wound twice a day. He's only awake some of the time – when the pain is too bad for him to sleep. He's not in any state to be seen, or touched, or talked to." She drew in a short breath, looking sympathetic. "You don't want to see him this way, Miss Granger. Moreover, _he_ wouldn't want anyone to see him this way. And seeing as he has no immediate family still living – "

"His mother might still be alive, we have no idea – "

The mediwitch's eyes flashed in irritation. "Well, when you find her, send her on in. Until then, no one sees him. Healer's orders. Unless you have Power of Attorney, I can't help you."

Before Hermione could respond, the little mediwitch swung back through the doors, ponytail swinging.

"Rude," she muttered under her breath, glaring at the doors. She huffed.

"Hermione – give it up."

She turned. Ron stood there, looking haggard. He'd started drinking after the final battle.

He hadn't stopped. It had been two weeks.

"If he survives this, he'll never be the same," he said, his pretty blue eyes dull with sadness and exhaustion. "I know you want to see him, to thank him – I'd like to thank him too, you know." He sighed, looking down at the ancient tile floor of St. Mungo's. "But even if he survives, we don't know what that might entail. He may never be able to walk again, talk again, go twenty minutes without his heart stopping. You may not ever get the chance to thank him. But if you do, it's not going to be right now."

She sniffed, eyes heavy with tears, and he put a hand on her shoulder. "Kingsley has asked us to meet with him at the Ministry as soon as we can. He needs to speak with us. He's opened up his personal floo. Harry's already on his way. We should go."

Wordlessly, she nodded. They stepped into the floo together, and he shouted, "Minister's Office!" and they both swirled away in a flash of green flame.

* * *

oooo

They all sat in silence around the wrought iron table of the Muggle café, sipping on their drinks. It was late morning, exactly one month after Voldemort's death.

His death. He was _dead._ It was hard to comprehend that Lord Voldemort was finally _gone._ Gone forever.

Harry sipped at his coffee, running the thumb of his free hand over his girlfriend's knuckles. Across from him, Ron poured whisky from a flask into his coffee and sipped at it. Harry pretended not to notice; he saw Hermione do the same, watching as her eyes flicked to the mug and then away again. It wasn't the right time to act on that. They both knew it.

Neville came and sat down next to Ron, holding drinks for Luna and himself. The dreamy blonde smiled at him absently, sipping at her tea and tracing the movements of a butterfly that fluttered around a flowering potted plant.

Finally, Harry spoke. "So…what do we do now?" They all looked at him with blank expressions. "I'm just feeling a bit lost. I mean, my entire life has just been Voldemort, Voldemort, Voldemort. Now that he's not here, I feel like I have no purpose anymore. I feel anxious, because there's always been something to _do:_ battle Death Eaters, find horcruxes, solve mysteries…and now there's nothing, and my mind just hasn't adjusted."

"It will adjust, Harry," Hermione said kindly, smiling at him from across the table. There was a tightness around her eyes that hinted at a lot of stress and more than a little uncertainty. But out of all of them, she was the most consistent. She was reliable and smart and held everything together when it was falling apart.

He loved her very, very much. An incredible woman, their Hermione. One of a kind.

"We just have to move on, I suppose," she continued evenly. "Do what we want to do. Start working, get married, have children. Live normal lives."

They all were silent for a moment, contemplating her words. He cleared his throat. "Can anyone tell me what a normal life looks like?" he asked bluntly. "Because I have no idea."

Hermione frowned. "I – well – " She cut herself off, and looked down into her drink.

Harry was the first to laugh. Then Neville started chuckling, and then Hermione, and pretty soon the entire table was roaring with laughter, hysterical tears leaking from their eyes. Soon the chuckles faded, and they all just sat in silence for a while, enjoying the peace of a bustling Muggle London in complete anonymity. It was lovely.

Finally Luna coughed. "Hermione," she said, her voice soft. "I heard some news – about Draco."

Hermione twisted in her seat, her eyes sharp. "What is it?"

"Padma Patil just received an offer for an internship at a hospital in Japan," she said, cupping her hands around her tea. "They've made some incredible discoveries there. They've agreed to take Draco – they're interested in trying to help him heal. They have a lot of alternative medicines that we don't have here, that haven't been approved."

"Just another way in which Britain has failed," Ginny muttered under her breath.

Hermione swallowed. "Leave England?"

"St. Mungo's isn't equipped to keep him long term, Hermione," Ron said wearily. "He's improved a little, but they've done all they can do. This is a good thing."

Hermione nodded jerkily, looking resigned. "Yeah."

"At least he gets to escape," Ron continued, a bitter edge to his voice. "Get away from all of this chaos, this travesty of a society with its broken people and inability to make progress. He can get a fresh start somewhere else; somewhere where the name Malfoy means nothing to anyone and where Britain is an island they've only ever seen on a map. A place where the mark on his arm is just an ugly tattoo. At least he's free of a society that would spit on him, curse him, shun him."

"But he's – he's a hero, Ron! He should be recognized for that."

"He should, but he won't, Hermione," Harry said sadly. "A few heroic actions won't redeem him in most people's eyes. They won't wipe away the stain of his past, or the stain of his name. If he stays here, he might be recognized by some, but it'll be a hard road for him to walk. He'll have to claw his way to the surface. He'll struggle in the workplace, and in relationships, and might even be refused service some places. It's not fair. It just _is."_

"This is why we need to get involved in rebuilding," Ginny said determinedly, pushing past her dislike of all things Malfoy to do the right thing. Harry was proud of her; his feisty redhead was not always known for her tolerance. "Our generation has to act _now,_ just like Kingsley said. If we don't, then we'll have lost the chance to change anything. Malfoy can have a better life somewhere else, Hermione – but maybe we can make it so that his children can go to school at Hogwarts without being sneered at."

"Haven't we already done enough?" Ron said with a curl of his lip. "Haven't all of us? Haven't we given up our childhoods to save everyone's arses? Now they want us to jump right into adulthood. Not only will we have won a war for them, now we get to _rebuild_ for them as well." He took a swig from his drink. His eyes were bloodshot, and Harry's heart ached for him.

"You're right," Neville said quietly. "We shouldn't have to do it. And we _don't_ have to do it – all of us could walk away right now, and start over someplace new; take a page from Malfoy's book. But if we leave, we forfeit our chance to make this world how _we_ want it. If we leave, we will have to watch everything go right back to normal, with a corrupt Ministry ruled by Purebloods and an undertone of prejudice everywhere you look. It'll set the stage for more conflict, and all of that work, all of that loss, will have been for nothing." He paused, squinting into the sun. "We have become the idols of these people – we can use that, even if it won't last forever."

"Manipulation," Luna said in a dreamy tone, looking up at the blue, blue sky. "I like it, Neville."

"How utterly _Slytherin_ of you, Longbottom."

Harry turned along with the rest of the group; on instinct, all of their hands twitched towards their wands. That would be a habit hard to break.

Harry instantly relaxed. "Zabini," he said to the smirking Slytherin. The striking man was clothed in a stylish Muggle ensemble, standing as if he'd walked right out of a catalog. He was completely at ease, as if he had always been in the Muggle world and it was the most natural thing in the world to stand there talking to them.

"What news, Zabini?" Hermione asked sharply, her eyes honing in on the Italian's bright blue gaze. "We've heard about Malfoy possibly going to Japan."

"No possibly about it, Granger," he drawled. "Draco gave his full consent – he's coherent enough at this point that he could make the decision for himself; but even if he hadn't been, I would have approved it." He paused, and looked at Hermione with something that may have been regret. "He and the Patil girl were picked up this morning by a hospital representative."

Hermione made a choking noise in her throat. "But – I didn't even get to thank him," she said, her voice quivering with emotion.

"He knows, Granger," Blaise said, sticking his hands in his pockets. "Believe me. He knows. But you have to let him go. He doesn't want to be here anymore. He's made that abundantly clear. This hospital in Japan might be able to heal him – and he might get a chance at another life, away from all this mess."

 _Maybe in another life._

Harry cleared his throat, bringing Zabini's gaze back to him. "Will we get news of his status? If anything happens, will we know about it?"

Blaise nodded slowly. "I have Power of Attorney, since his mother is missing and the rest of the family dead," he said softly. "Until he's fully cognitive and recovered enough to be released, I have access to his files. I'll make sure to check in with the hospital in Osaka and I'll get word back to you if there's any improvement – or if he gets worse." He squinted into the sunshine, and Harry suspected it might be to stave off tears. "There's no telling right now. It could go either way."

Harry nodded.

"Also," Blaise said with a sly smile, "Theodore Nott will be taking his seat on the Wizengamot come his twentieth birthday," he said. "And I've been offered a position in the International Magical Office of Law." He gave them all a knowing look. "If ever you were to need something…well. Sometimes it pays to have a couple of those Pureblooded Slytherin bastards on your side." His lips quirked.

Ron snorted. "You're offering your help?" he asked skeptically.

Blaise shrugged. "Not in direct words, of course. That's not how we operate, Weasley. You Gryffindor types are good at barging in and making bold statements. We Slytherin types like to slide along the walls in the shadows with muffling charms on our shoes." He stopped, and turned. "Plus," he finished softly, "we aren't all rotten. Some of us want change, too."

He strode down the sunny street and then disappeared around a corner, never once looking back.

"That was…" Ginny paused, licking her lips. "Nice. He's rather likeable."

"When he isn't curling his lip in disdain or turning his nose up like he smells something foul," Neville said with a snort.

"He's got lovely eyes," Luna said, braiding the end of her ponytail absentmindedly.

Ron rolled his eyes, but Harry saw the hint of a smile on his lips. Then he frowned contemplatively. "How do you suppose he found us?" he asked curiously. He met Harry's eyes.

He looked at Hermione, who smiled into her cup. Harry shrugged. "Slytherin."

Neville grinned, and then they were all chuckling again, the sun chasing away their sorrows for the moment.

* * *

oooo

None of them ever forgot Draco Malfoy – after all, how could they? But with time, the enigmatic blonde faded from their lives. When they heard his name, something stirred in their chests; but they had so much to do, so much to experience and accomplish.

Hermione still had dreams, sometimes. But overall she focused on her work and her friends, and never brought him up. And they were happy, mostly. Things were blissfully normal – as normal as they could ever be.

It would be seven years before they would see him again.


	3. Chapter 1

**And the story begins! *cue music***

* * *

oooo

 _August, 2005_

Hermione sighed into her drink, idly listening as Ron described his last Cannons game in great detail. He paused and leaned backwards, agilely snatching a canapé from a passing tray and subsequently gobbling it down.

She rolled her eyes internally. Ron was about as graceful as a beached whale most of the time, even as a Keeper on the Chudley Cannons' team, but when it came to food, he was surprisingly nimble. Figured.

"So anyway," he continued, wiping crumbs from his dress robes, "once Carmichael had the ball, it was pretty much game over."

Hermione smiled at him. "I'm very glad you won, Ronald. I'm sorry I couldn't come to the game."

"That's all right, 'Mione," he said, waving her away. "You come to most of them. But Lav was there, and Angelina and George. I know you and Harry have work stuff to take care of."

"I'll admit," she hedged, "I wasn't quite prepared for the sheer amount of time I would be spending at work when I joined the DMLE. In the DCOMC we had a set schedule – we worked every day from nine to five. Now I have to be prepared to work at any time," she said with a small grimace. "But I've gotten used to it, by now." She'd been working in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement for five years: three as an Auror, and two as an Investigative Detective. At this point, she couldn't imagine doing anything else.

If anyone had suggested that Hermione was an adrenaline junkie growing up, she would have called them crazy. But after the war ended, she'd felt bereft – as had Harry. She had joined the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures – which she'd renamed the Department for the Care and Observation of Magical Creatures once she'd gotten into a position where she'd had more control – and then two years later, after she'd felt satisfied with the overhaul there, she had joined Harry as an Auror. At that point, he had been well on his way to becoming Department Head of the DMLE, and soon enough she was promoted to Head Investigator, and their lives were busy and crazy and equal parts paperwork and wandwork.

She bloody _loved_ it.

Ron patted her on the shoulder, and she jolted, realizing that she'd been zoning out, staring in the direction where Rolf Weismeiner, head of the International Department of Trade and Commerce, parted from his lovely wife with a few terse words and a tight smile; Pansy Weismeiner, formerly Parkinson, looked down at her shoes and sipped on her champagne, schooling her face into a mask of indifference as her husband strode away and she joined some old school friends near the refreshment table.

Hermione cleared her throat in embarrassment, wiping her sweaty palms on the long silk skirt of her green gown. "Sorry, Ron," she said quietly.

He shook his head and chuckled. "Hermione, we learned a long time ago that the two of us can only tolerate so much of each others' company, especially without Harry around." He squeezed her bare arm. "You know I love you," he said with a grin. He looked over her shoulder, and she turned. "But I have a wife over there who is far more tolerant of my ranting and raving."

Hermione looked at Lavender with a fond smile. The woman was eight months pregnant, and looked as beautiful as she ever had. Her confidence and pretty features compensated more than enough for the long, jagged scar that ran from her jaw to her collarbone. Hermione had learned a long time ago that Lavender Brown (now Weasley) was far stronger and braver than Hermione had thought in school.

The blonde still wasn't the brightest bulb, but she was always smiling and helpful and so, _so_ good for Ron. She listened to him, encouraged him, and, above all else, made him feel _needed._ She thought he was interesting, and loved to listen to him talk (which was great, because Ron loved to talk). She followed his career as the keeper for the Cannons avidly.

And he hadn't had anything to drink in five years.

Hermione turned her eyes away from the vision in blue, who was standing and talking to Luna, and looked up at Ron. She smiled. "I saw Percy corner Harry a while back – I think he might need rescuing." She kissed the second half of her greatest childhood friends on the cheek, and they each went their separate ways.

She made a beeline for where the other half stood in the corner of the ballroom, faking a smile of mild interest (and failing) as Percy talked to him with a furrowed brow, undoubtedly about work.

"Harry!" she said loudly, announcing her presence loudly and cheerily. "Oh hello, Percy, how lovely to see you!" Percy smiled and they clasped hands as they always had, because Percy Weasley was just too awkward to hug.

"Nice to see you too, Hermione," he said genuinely, pushing his glasses up his nose. "We were just talking about the new filing system down in the DOM. Absolutely ridiculous."

Hermione faked a look of consternation. "Completely asinine," she agreed. "I'm sure we'll get it sorted out. If you wouldn't mind, Percy, can I talk to Harry alone for a moment? Work stuff," she said with a wave of her hand.

Percy nodded and smiled. "I see I am not the only person who would rather trade in all of this frivolity," he said, gesturing around the ballroom, "for work. Good for you. I'm sure I'll see you later, but if not, I'll see you at the Burrow for brunch on Sunday."

With a formal bow of his hand, the austere redhead turned and strode back towards the refreshment table.

Harry looked at Hermione, and he slouched in relief. "You are a bloody saint."

She patted him on the arm and chuckled. "I thought I saw some brain matter leak from your ear, and just knew that I needed to come rescue you."

He grinned. "I love Perce, but he could teach a bloody _class_ on boredom," he said, grabbing the champagne flute from Hermione's hand and gulping it down in one go. "How's your night been?"

Hermione sighed and shrugged, looking down at her beautiful green gown and mourning the waste of such an elegant article of clothing. This party had been completely pointless, and of course fashion laws demanded that she not wear a dress more than once. Her closet was full of them. Seven years worth of formal Ministry events, and she had over fifty dresses to show for it.

Of course, Hermione hated the wastefulness of it. But she'd learned after a couple of hard transitional years in the public eye that she was, for all intents and purposes, a celebrity; and society had demands. Hermione hated it, but she had learned to pick her battles. Campaigning for the right to wear a dress a second time without being ridiculed for it was not a worthy cause. So she had adjusted, and had devoted her time and energy towards other things.

"It's been…boring," she said, pouting.

"Are these things ever _not_ boring, Hermione?" he asked with a smile.

Hermione sniffed. "New Years Eve last year was fun."

Harry snorted. "That's because we went to the Leaky afterwards and got pissed," he said.

A slow grin stretched across her face. "Oh yes. You're right. Now I remember." She paused and looked at him. "And how has _your_ night been, Harry Potter?" she asked lowly.

He sighed, and took off his glasses to polish them on the skirt of her sleek dress. She rolled her eyes, but allowed it. "It's been…fine. Hard."

"I know," she said softly. She couldn't offer much– she had already said all there was to say about Ginny's death. There were no more words of comfort to give; they'd all run out of those since his wife was killed in childbirth four months ago.

"I just feel…" He paused, looking out into the crowd. She took his hand, and he squeezed her fingers. "I don't know what I feel. I feel all sorts of things. Sometimes I'll be fine, and then I'll flip the bloody couch over or smash a glass against the wall. Sometimes I just cry for hours. Sometimes I light things on fire in my sleep, and Kreacher has to come wake me up and put it out." He sighed. "Sometimes I suspect he just puts it out and lets me sleep. And with James…"

"I know that's hardest of all," she whispered.

"He has her eyes," he said, blinking away tears. "And every time I look into them, I just see her. And I love him more than anything, but there's still this sense of blame; she died bringing him into the world, and it's…it's not _fair,_ Hermione." He sniffed. "I thought after the war, we would finally catch a break. That I would be with Ginny forever and have children with her and we would grow old and die together. And yet that was yanked from me just like my parents were, like Sirius and Remus and Dumbledore. It's changed everything." He scuffed his foot against the floor. "I got rid of most of her things yesterday," he said quietly. "Her clothes and stuff. I gave some of her jewelry back to Molly – things I knew were family heirlooms. But I couldn't look at it all anymore. And I smelled her every time I went into the closet, which was maddening, Hermione. Absolutely maddening."

Hermione nodded, feeling desolate. Personally, she thought it was too soon for that purge, but everyone was different. "Just go with your gut, Harry," she said gently. "Do what you need to do to deal with this. Everyone grieves in their own way." She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. "I miss her too. Very, very much."

Harry squeezed her hand almost painfully, and then let go. "Let's talk about different things," he said with finality.

"Yes," she agreed hastily. "Like how I would fight Voldemort again if it meant I didn't have to spend another minute at this party."

He nodded, the spark back in his eye. "I would take any sort of distraction right now. Really. Anyth – "

Suddenly a Patronus flew through the wall, coming to a stop in the middle of the ballroom, right in their line of sight.

" _Please, somebody help!"_ the vixen said desperately. _"This is Pansy Weismeiner – I think someone has k-killed my husband."_ The voice grew thick with tears. _"Please hurry – the parlor floo is open."_ Then the spectral fox winked out of existence, and a hush fell over the room.

Hermione looked over at Harry. "Looks like you got your wish, Mister Potter," she said with a grim shake of her head.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and took out the coin in his pocket, sending a short message out to his agents. "This isn't what I had in mind, exactly." He held his hand up, and instantly two Aurors moved out of the crowd towards them, a man and a woman both dressed formally. They did not need instruction – they all knew the drill.

Hermione and Harry led them towards the Atrium, wands already drawn. One Auror, three CSIs, and another Investigative Detective (Adrian Pucey, who she'd worked with for several years) flooed in, and Harry instantly pointed right back at the grates. "Hermione and I will go first," he commanded sharply. "Then Felicity," he instructed, nodding to his Head Auror, a forty-year-old blonde in a silver dress, "and the rest of you follow. At a _reasonable_ pace. If you clog the floo again like you did in Knockturn Alley last week, I'm leaving you in there."

Adrian Pucey's lips twitched, and he shook his head. Hermione caught his eye, and he winked at her. She grinned.

"Potter!"

Blaise Zabini came whirling around the corner, his face an open book. He was worried.

Before he could speak, Harry held up a hand. "You'll be the first to know anything, Zabini. But right now, let us do our jobs." Without another word, he whirled away in a burst of flame.

Hermione smiled at the handsome Italian as she climbed into the floo after him. "She'll be okay, Blaise."

Then she was caught up in green fire, and was gone.

* * *

oooo

Pansy let out a heavy sigh of relief as she stepped out of the parlor fireplace. She instantly sat down on the couch and unbuckled the plum colored shoes that matched her backless dress, wincing. No matter how many cushioning charms one put on a pair of heels, they would still manage to hurt like hell at the end of the night.

She frowned, looking around the cozy room. The only light source was the fire in the hearth. She lifted her wand, and the sconces lit up.

"Rolf?" she called out. She didn't exactly expect to hear him answer. He'd said he'd had to attend to something work related – had to meet with someone – and he'd left her there at the party, telling her to enjoy the rest of her evening and to not bother him when she got home. That had been fifteen minutes ago. She'd found that, as she aged, she had little patience for such galas anymore. As a younger woman she had reveled in them – now that she was a mother, and only a few months away from turning twenty-six, she had a lot less energy than she'd had a few years ago.

She hooked her shoes with her fingers, and stepped out into the hallway, shivering as her bare feet touched the cold stone. Once again, the corridor was dark, and fire appeared in the wall sconces as she swept down the hall. It was eerily quiet, and the air felt unusually still.

She was intending on passing the office and immediately climbing the stairs to her quarters, but she paused. The light was on, and the door was cracked. She stepped closer, straining to hear.

Nothing. It was completely silent.

She felt an icy fist wrap around her throat, and something cold and wet slid down her spine. With an unexplainable feeling of dread settling heavy in her stomach, she pushed open the door and stepped inside.

At first she didn't see anything – just an empty desk and a raging fire in the hearth. She took another step forward, and her bare foot hit something slick, and then she slipped backwards with a muffled "oof" and landed hard on her backside. Something wet and warm started to seep through her dress, and she looked down.

The scream died in her throat. Blood pooled everywhere, and the viscous red liquid was smeared across her bare back and calves and feet and hands and arms. She began to shake, and then caught sight of the black shoe that peeked out from behind the desk.

She scrambled to her feet, her heart beating like a hummingbird's wings, and leaned over the corner of the desk.

She stared and stared and stared and stared. What had once been her husband was laying spread eagle on the floor. His chest had been split from chin to groin, and his ribcage was cracked wide open. Entrails spilled from his gut and draped over his body and onto the floor. His mouth was wide open in a silent scream, and his eyes had been gouged from his face. There was a T carved onto his forehead.

Her hands trembled, and she absentmindedly wiped her bloody hands on her dress. The urge to panic was strong, but she desperately reined in the urge to get hysterical. She fumbled with her wand, and then shut her eyes tight, and recalled her happiest memory: the birth of her daughter.

" _Expecto Patronum,"_ she whispered, and looked up in relief as her silver vixen poured forth from her wand. "Please, somebody help!" she said in a desperate voice. She felt bile rise in her throat, and swallowed it back down, the acid burning her esophagus and making her eyes water. "This is Pansy Weismeiner – I think someone k-killed my husband," she stuttered, wiping at the tears on her face, unknowingly leaving blood in its wake. "Please hurry – the parlor floo is open." Instantly she sent the Patronus towards London, and then raised her wand and lowered the ward that surrounded the parlor floo. She conjured another Patronus and sent it northeast towards Sweden.

Inhaling shakily, she called her house elf. "Pippy."

When the house elf that had practically raised her didn't immediately pop into the room, Pansy's eyes went wide and she fled the room. She ran up the stairs and burst into her bedroom. "Eleanor!"

Her eight-month-old daughter was standing in her crib, leaning heavily on the railing to hold herself up. Tears streaked from her pale blue eyes – the eyes of a father she would never know. She blinked towards her mother, and then spoke two of the few words she knew.

"Ma," she said tearily. "Pippy. Pippy."

Pansy rushed to her daughter, lifting her out of the crib; she seemed to be unharmed. She looked over into the corner, and clapped a hand to her mouth when she saw her ancient house-elf slumped in the corner, her throat slit.

"Oh my God," she said, holding her crying daughter to her chest. "Oh my God."

Just then she heard the floo roar to life, and she turned and stumbled from the room, flying down the stairs and bursting into the parlor just as Harry bleeding Potter stepped from the fireplace.

She had never really interacted with Potter, but she couldn't help the relief that flooded through her when her eyes landed on his face. She couldn't think of anyone better qualified to handle this situation. He ran a hand over his perpetually spiky hair to flatten it, his eyes looking her up and down. He grimaced as he noticed the blood that stained her skin and dress.

"Well, aren't you a sight," he murmured.

Staring into his brilliant green eyes, she burst into tears.

* * *

oooo

Hermione landed in the parlor fireplace of the old Parkinson estate, and instantly her forehead collided with Harry's sharp shoulder blade. Huffing in irritation, she shoved him out of the way, rubbing her forehead. He muttered an apology, but his eyes were fixed on Pansy.

Their old classmate was shaking, holding a baby in her arms and sobbing. Hermione immediately went forward and grasped the taller woman's upper arms. "Pansy," she said firmly. Every time the traumatized woman swiped at her tears, she streaked more blood on her face. There was a bloody handprint on the back of the baby's sweet yellow frock; a lovely domestic scene turned horror story. "Parkinson," she said firmly, using the woman's maiden name out of habit. "Look at me."

Pansy sniffled, and then blinked and caught Hermione's stare. "He – he's in the st-study. I can…I can show you the way."

Harry stepped forward to stop her, looking serious. "Are _you_ unharmed?" he asked as more people stepped out of the floo and into the room. "And your daughter. Is she okay?"

Pansy nodded shakily. "They…they didn't hurt Eleanor. But my house-elf P…" Her voice broke, and she put and hand over her mouth as more tears came flooding through. "Pippy. They slit her throat."

Harry shook his head, his nostrils flaring; Hermione saw his eyes flash in that way they did when he saw someone in pain and wanted justice. Hermione caught his eye, and then she put a hand on Pansy's sticky wet back and guided her from the room. Pansy swept off down the hall, the wet sound of her bare feet on the floor making Hermione cringe.

She'd never liked Pansy Parkinson. She'd been really impressed with how the black-haired woman had designed Ginny's wedding dress – how she'd put the blushing bride at ease with her sardonic humor and smooth words. She was a very talented designer, and Hermione had bought multiple things from her – the gown that she wore tonight she'd gotten from Pansy's store. But she'd never warmed up to the former Slytherin, and doubted she ever would.

Still. She wouldn't wish this on her worst enemy.

As soon as Hermione peered in the office, she inhaled sharply. She looked at Harry, who stepped into the room and stared at the grisly scene with narrowed eyes and clenched teeth.

"Awfully ritualistic," Pucey said from behind them, peering over their shoulders from his towering height of 6'4" and holding a camera up. He started to take photographs, and Hermione pulled Pansy aside to let him and the CSI crew in.

Harry avoided walking in the blood until Pucey got pictures of everything; then he stepped further towards the body, and stared at it in mounting horror. He crouched down next to the dead man, and his eyes were fixed to the cadaver's empty eye sockets. The eyes were nowhere to be seen. "This is…this is…"

"Savage," Hermione offered, ignoring the urge to empty the contents of her stomach. "Complete overkill."

She and Harry and Adrian all looked at each other, and agreed to discuss it later, without the widow of the mutilated corpse sniffling beside them.

Harry took one last look around the room, and then stepped out into the hall, cleaning the bottom of his shoes before he did so. He summoned Jimmy Peakes to his side, and with a whispered word the stocky man went up the stairs to Pansy's private quarters to process the scene up there.

Harry looked at Pansy. "I need to process the scene – which includes you," he said, looking her in the eyes. Despite her shock, she seemed relatively lucid. Hermione was impressed. "I'm going to let Hermione and Katie look at Eleanor," he said calmly, "and Fay and I are going to look at you. We just need to take some samples – any materials that might have ended up on your person are considered evidence. We also need to check both of you for any potential curses."

Pansy nodded jerkily, and reluctantly handed a sleepy Eleanor to Hermione, who took the sniffling baby girl and cooed at her with a gentle smile. She was a beautiful child, and seemed very well behaved. Hermione looked to Pansy. "I'm going to stay right here in this hall with you, all right?" she offered softly. "She'll never leave your sight."

"O-okay." Fay Dunbar took her hand and led her to a cushioned bench in the hall. Pansy sat, and Fay started to take pictures as Harry knelt at her bloody feet and started to swab the blood there with a Q-tip. Hermione rocked Eleanor in her arms, not minding when the baby grabbed ahold of her ponytail and squeezed it in her tight fist, nuzzling into Hermione's shoulder.

Katie began to cast a whole host of spells over the baby, and colors swirled around her as each diagnostic charm came up clear. The same was true of Pansy, who was watching Hermione hold her child with anxious eyes.

"Nice dress, Granger," she said, her voice trembling. She gave Hermione a small smile.

Hermione smiled back. "Thought you might recognize it. It's a lovely gown."

"You look good in Slytherin colors," Pansy said, referring to the silver and diamond jewelry at Hermione's neck, wrist and ears. She wiped at her nose with a bloody hand until Harry reached up wordlessly and handed her his handkerchief. She took it with a murmured thank you.

Hermione bowed her head with a smile. She caught Pansy's watery cobalt eyes. "Doing all right?"

Pansy nodded slowly, her leg jerking as Harry's hand found a ticklish spot behind her knee. Then the floo roared from the parlor down the hall, and Pansy's eyes went wide. Getting to her feet and deftly sidestepping Harry, she flew off down the corridor. Hermione and Harry followed, feeling anxious.

"Pans?"

A figure stepped out of the room and started down the hall, and Pansy rushed towards him and threw herself into his arms. "Draco!"

Hermione felt her heart rate double. Because she was staring at Draco Malfoy in the flesh, and she'd not seen him in seven years. It was like a sucker punch to the gut.

He was just as beautiful as she'd remembered him. Different; but no less stunning. He had broadened with age, and seemed to be very fit – the last she'd heard of him, he had taken a job as an Auror in Sweden. His white-blond hair was cropped fairly short, easy to maintain.

"What happened?" he demanded sharply, taking Pansy by the shoulders and taking in her appearance. "Pans?"

"Rolf is d-dead," the tear-stricken woman said, looking haunted.

Draco immediately looked to Harry. Hermione jolted when the light hit his eyes – his right one was a silvery-grey as it had always been, but the left one was much paler, a pearly color that might have been a pale blue. The pupil of the eye was very small. "Show me."

Harry frowned. "This is a crime scene, Malfoy – "

"Yes, I know how it works, Potter," Draco said coldly. "Two years ago you offered me a job. I'm accepting it."

Harry scoffed. "Merlin, Malfoy, that was – "

"Yes or no, Potter," the blond said, his jaw ticking.

Harry hesitated. Hermione spoke up, her heart pounding against her ribcage; Harry had never told her that he'd tried to hire Malfoy – she wondered why. "Jeremy Stretton is moving to Vancouver in three months, Harry. He's already given us notice. We could use a replacement."

Draco finally took notice of her, and she met his stare over Eleanor's head. Something in his eyes flashed, and then softened – and then he looked away, and she wondered if she had imagined it or not.

Harry's nostrils flared. "Fine. But you're too close to this, Malfoy."

"Stop trying to find excuses to keep me off the case," the former Slytherin said, keeping one hand closed around Pansy's shoulder as the other restlessly picked at his lightweight green summer jumper. He was in jeans, and his hair was spiky, like he'd run his fingers through it several times. Hermione guessed that he'd been settling in for the night when he'd been interrupted by Pansy's Patronus and had yanked on the easiest and most convenient clothes. "I knew Rolf. I know Pansy. And I have access to the circles that they run in. I might have valuable insight, and you know it."

Harry took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Fine. I'll call Sweden in the morning to get your transfer paperwork." He put his glasses back on. His eyes were weary. "You haven't changed a bit, have you?" he said.

Malfoy smirked, and held out his hand. Harry hesitated, and then took it. "I've changed enough, Potter. Enough to make a difference, anyway." He paused. "I believe the process is called 'aging,' if I remember correctly."

They released hands, and Harry rolled his eyes. "Hilarious."

"So I've been told."

Hermione snorted, and then winced as Eleanor tugged on her hair especially hard. "As pleasant as this little reunion has been," she said dryly, not wanting to admit that she was annoyed with how she was being ignored, "I believe we have a crime scene to process and a hungry baby to feed." She jiggled Eleanor in her arms, and the babe snuggled further into her neck with an adorable sigh.

Pansy held her arms out. "Are you finished with her?"

"Almost," Hermione said with a smile. "But I don't believe we're quite finished with you, either."

When they got back to the stretch of hall in front of the study, Katie cast the last two spells on Eleanor to confirm that she hadn't been cursed, Harry snipped a piece off of the hem of Pansy's dress, and Hermione handed the sleepy child back to her mother before joining Malfoy at the door of the study.

"Malfoy!" Pucey said in wonder, his forest green eyes wide with surprise. He held out a hand, and Draco took it and shook it heartily. "Good to see you, mate."

Malfoy nodded. "It's been a while." His eyes flickered down to the body on the floor, and he frowned. "Well. I can't say I ever liked the arsehole, but I certainly don't think he deserved this."

"You didn't like Weismeiner?" Hermione asked quietly, looking at him through curious eyes. "Does Parkinson know?"

Draco's lips twitched, and he turned to pierce Hermione with that unnerving stare. She felt caught in it, like she couldn't move even if she tried. "I made no secret of my dislike for him. It was an arranged marriage. She wasn't pleased to be wed to a man over twice her age, as you can imagine, and he wasn't looking for anything more than a young, fertile woman to spread her legs and give him an heir," he said harshly, glaring at the body on the floor in dislike. "He was a miserable human being, Granger. Still, he was the mother of her child, and, like I said, he didn't deserve such a fate."

He frowned suddenly, and looked back at Pansy. "Pans, where's Pippy?"

Fresh tears leaked from Pansy's eyes. She dabbed at her face with Harry's handkerchief, and held her daughter closer to her chest. "She's…upstairs. Dead."

Draco exhaled heavily through his nose and looked down at the floor. "I'm sorry. What about Murphy?"

Pansy gasped and held a hand to her chest. "Oh Merlin, Draco, I totally forgot." She looked at Hermione. "She's a house-elf I got a few months ago, to take over some of the housework so that Pippy could help me more with the baby." She frowned. "Murphy?"

A small female house-elf popped into existence in the hall, staring at Pansy with wide blue eyes. To Hermione's surprise, Pansy held her hand out, and Murphy placed one of her own smaller ones in the open palm of her mistress.

"Murphy, darling, what happened?" Pansy said softly.

"Mistress said – " Murphy sniffed. "Mistress said that Murphy isn't supposed to say."

Pansy frowned. "What do you mean, Murphy? Tonight's your night off, remember? Saturdays and Sundays I let you take off every week."

Murphy shook her head. "But Mistress said – "

"Murphy," Draco suddenly said from Hermione's side, his voice sharp. "What do you have on under your dress?"

Hermione frowned, and saw Harry step forward and crouch down next to the elf, who shied away. Indeed, there did appear to be something bulky underneath the elf's dark blue dress.

Harry reached out, and Murphy burst into tears when he lifted up the hem of the garment. "Murphy is so sorry," she wailed, scratching her face with her nails. "Murphy did not want to."

Harry drew in a sharp breath. "It's a bomb," he said harshly, getting to his feet. "Forty seconds. Everyone out, _now!"_

oooo

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 **Please review, if you feel so inclined!**

 **xoxo**

 **Giraffe :)**


	4. Chapter 2

**Don't worry, She Rises will be updated tomorrow night. I know it's been a while since I've updated, though. I'm very sorry for the wait.**

 **Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

oooo

Adrian tried the floo. "She's blocked the floo."

Harry lifted his wand, and a Patronus shot forth, instantly disappearing into the ceiling to alert Jimmy. "Out the front door. Quickly – _quickly!"_

Hermione helped Pansy to her feet. Draco tugged Eleanor from his friend's arms, and Harry and the rest of the team grabbed the CSI kits and ran down the hall to the foyer.

Hermione lifted her wand and said, _"Bombarda!"_ and the door was blasted from its hinges and out onto the front lawn. Draco and Pansy went first, and the rest of them filed out and stumbled towards the tree line.

Malfoy grabbed Hermione's arm as she lagged. "Lose the heels, Granger," he hissed. He wrapped his free arm around her waist and lifted her, and she huffed in surprise but kicked off her shoes nonetheless. Then they were running again, and her feet were sticky with warm dew and loose grass, and then they reached the trees and the world went silent for just a moment before all hell broke loose.

The explosion was deafening. Hermione felt the warmth of it on her back, and felt something sharp lodge itself next to her spine before she was being pulled behind a tree.

She saw Adrian Pucey and Harry each grab one of Pansy's arms, and they threw themselves down to the ground. Felicity Ackerly, the Head Auror, curled into a ball on the ground, heedless of the fact that her elegant silver dress and pretty blonde up-do were being soiled. Hermione closed her eyes.

And then it was over, and she blinked. Her ears were ringing, and it took her a minute to be able to hear normally again. Malfoy cradled a crying Eleanor to his chest, and brought his other hand up to Hermione's neck and brushed his thumb against her jaw absentmindedly as his eyes scanned the woods intensely. Finally that penetrating stare came back to settle on her.

"All right, Granger?" he asked, his breathing heavy.

"Y-yeah," she answered, perhaps more shaken by the fact that he was touching her so familiarly than by the explosion. "You? How's the baby?"

"Fine, we're fine," he said impatiently, tapping his thumb against her jaw before removing his hand from her skin. She swallowed.

Harry was getting to his feet and pulling a shaking Pansy up next to him, using the handkerchief that she'd somehow managed to keep hold of to dab at a scrape on her cheek. He then wrapped it around her skinned palm and quickly tied it off, steadying her and leaving her in the care of Pucey before turning and scanning the area with hard, angry green eyes.

"Felicity?" he said sharply. "Okay?"

"Yeah," the forty-year-old said, getting to her feet and nursing what looked to be a sprained wrist. "I've got Bell and Dunbar over here, too. And Turner. They all seem to be unharmed, except Turner's bleeding from the ear."

"Rivers is here," Adrian said, stepping away from Pansy to help the older Auror to his feet. "Looks like he's got a head injury." He paused and looked around. "Where's Jimmy?"

They all shared a look. Harry's eyes squinted, and he looked up to the starry sky, trying to hold back his emotion. Hermione felt a tear slip from her eye.

"I'll inform the next of kin – " Felicity started soberly.

"No," Harry interrupted. "I'll call Sean. It's my job."

"Harry," Hermione said gently. He met her eyes. "You've got a hell of a lot more to take care of tonight. Let Felicity do it. You've got enough on your plate."

Harry grimaced, and blinked away tears. Jimmy Peakes had been on the Gryffindor quidditch team when Harry had been captain. He'd taken the freckled boy under his wing, and then again when he'd joined the Auror ranks years later. Jimmy's twin brother Sean was the only remaining member of the Peakes family. Hermione couldn't imagine what that would be like. She could only think of George, and the loss of Fred.

"The timing of this was intentional," Draco said quietly, his eyes narrowed as he turned back towards the flaming ruin of the Parkinson ancestral home – the manor that Pansy had inherited after her father's death, that Rolf had agreed to move into when he moved from Germany to England to marry her and take a job at the Ministry.

"Yes," Harry confirmed quietly, glaring at the remains of the building. "It was."

"Do you think he's watching?" Hermione said quietly. "Admiring his handiwork?"

"How are you so certain it's a he, Granger?" Malfoy countered.

She scoffed. "Not to disparage my own gender, but I doubt a woman is capable of that kind of carnage. Unless Bellatrix Lestrange has miraculously come back to life – "

"Merlin, Hermione, don't joke about that!" Harry said, eyes wide. "You'll jinx it."

Malfoy grimaced. "Please don't say that name," he grumbled. "It reminds me that I'm actually related to her."

" _Were_ related to her, Malfoy," she corrected. "She's dead. You're not." She looked sideways at him and lowered her voice. "Not for lack of trying, of course."

He did not respond, but the corners of his lips turned up ever so slightly. The light of the fire emphasized his mismatched eyes. She knew he was thinking about that night as she was – the night over seven years ago when he'd sacrificed himself to save her.

Well, he had saved _them._ All three of them. The entire Golden Trio.

(But she had known, even then, that he was really only thinking of her.)

Hermione heard Pansy sniffle, and turned to see the slender brunette curl her fist over her mouth to stifle a sob as she stared at the ruins of her mansion. The fire reflected off of her wet blue eyes, turning them gold for a moment before she covered her face in her hands and wept.

Draco immediately went to her, and handed Eleanor back to her before gathering her up in his arms.

"Everything's gone," Pansy sobbed, her voice muffled in the crook of his shoulder as she mourned her loss. "My entire life, my childhood, my husband."

He reached up and put his hand on the top of Eleanor's head. "You still have your daughter, Pans. And your business – and all of the memories you've created over the years at this house. The rest can be replaced. We'll figure it out." He looked at Hermione over the top of Pansy's head. "We should get back to the Ministry. It's not safe here."

Hermione nodded, and looked to Harry. "You want Parkinson to side-along with you, and I'll take Malfoy?" She looked at Pansy. "The three of you don't have proper clearance to apparate directly into the Ministry."

Harry nodded, and Draco pulled away from Pansy to hand his old friend over to his former nemesis. Harry immediately put one hand on Eleanor's back and grasped Pansy's wrist in the other. He looked around at his team. "See you in a few seconds."

Then he was gone with a pop, and the rest of them disappeared one by one from the woods. Hermione held out her arm, and Draco hesitated briefly before curling his fingers around her wrist. She wondered if he noticed how her pulse quickened.

She looked up at him with a cool smile. "Try not to vomit on my feet, Malfoy. I've never been good at side-alongs." Before she gave him a chance to respond, she closed her eyes, and they disappeared from the scene, leaving the dead and the flaming ruins of a house behind.

* * *

oooo

Draco jolted as he landed hard on his feet, nearly losing his balance. He grimaced, and looked at Hermione through narrowed eyes before releasing her arm. "You're terrible at that, Granger," he said.

She raised an eyebrow. "You seem surprised, and yet I very clearly remember warning you."

He rolled his eyes. "Still a smartass, I see."

She grinned, and something twanged in his heart. Long buried feelings, perhaps, surfacing again now that he was back in England among the people he'd grown up with. It felt…surreal.

Irritated that Hermione bleeding Granger still had the ability to make him all soft and pathetic, he turned from her with a disdainful look. It annoyed him even further when she chuckled.

He turned to where Harry was talking to an older gentleman, issuing quiet orders for the Fire Department, a division of the DMLE. The man nodded, and strode away.

Draco looked around. They were in the heart of the Auror Office, amongst cubicles and desks and a few people who were milling around, waiting for instruction. He saw one woman yawn, and looked at his watch. It was just past midnight.

"All right, everybody," Potter said in a loud voice. "I just have a couple of tasks that need to be seen to, and then we all can go home and get some rest. We'll have a briefing tomorrow morning at eight-thirty. Aurors, defer to Ackerly for orders. The rest of you know what to do – just normal closing stuff." He clapped his hands, and everyone immediately moved, attending to their duties.

Harry turned to Bell. "Gather all of the evidence and photographs from the crime scene," he ordered sharply. "I want it all organized and filed properly, so that tomorrow morning we can get to work on this." He looked to Fay Dunbar. "Fay, do me a favor and escort the injured to St. Mungo's; Rivers and Turner, who both have head injuries. The rest of us can make do with a few healing charms." Fay nodded and turned to do his bidding. He looked to Pucey. "Kingsley is standing by for word of what happened. You'll have unfettered access to his office – go ahead and brief him. But be vague; until we get all the details straight, I want to refrain from saying too much, even to the Minister." Pucey nodded in understanding.

Harry fixed those green eyes on Draco next. "You, and you," he said, pointing to Pansy, "In my office. Now."

Draco put a hand on Pansy's back and guided her towards the door that Potter was pointing to. Hermione came behind them, and then Harry was last, closing the door and locking it. He pulled the blinds down over the window, and then went immediately to the corner, where he pulled a small bottle out of a cabinet and set to work extracting the memory from tonight while it was still fresh in his mind.

Pansy sat in one of the chairs in front of Potter's desk, holding Eleanor against her shoulder and staring at the Boy-Who-Lived with eyes that were glazed with shock and exhaustion. Draco stood up against the door, scanning the office with sharp eyes: a paperweight in the shape of a lion's head (typical), an antique sneak-o-scope, a photograph of Potter, Weasley and Granger together in front of the fountain in Hogsmeade, arms linked and cheeks pink with the biting winter wind. By the cut of Weasley's hair it had been taken some time in fifth year, during Umbridge's reign of terror. Another picture on the mantle was of Hermione at the same age, sitting at a long wooden table, sandwiched between Sirius Black and Remus Lupin as they bowed their heads together over a very large book.

As he sat in a chair, Draco also noticed that there were two spots that were noticeably empty, one on Potter's desk and one on the mantle. He would guess that they had once belonged to photos of the late Mrs. Potter, and that Harry had removed them to try to escape his grief.

Draco knew that was fruitless. Perhaps it would help him cope day to day, but eventually he'd have to put those pictures right back where they belonged, because no amount of avoidance could wipe the loss of a loved one from one's mind.

They were all silent as Harry pulled the memory out, guiding the white wisp of his consciousness into the flask and stoppering it. Then he turned to them, rubbed at his eyes, and collapsed into his desk chair. Granger remained standing. Draco watched her out of the corner of his eye.

"Is anyone hurt?" the Head of the DMLE said wearily. "Other than minor scrapes, I mean."

Hermione shook her head, looking around at them all. Draco rolled his eyes, stood to his feet, and strode over to her. She jolted, looking at him with blatant discomfort. Nonetheless he turned her with a gentle hand on her shoulder and yanked a sizeable piece of glass from the meat of her middle back.

" _Ow!"_ She glared at him, and he shrugged, silently handing her the shard of what had once been a window, now stained with blood. He then conjured a handkerchief, wiped his fingers, and then put it in her other hand and pulled her arm around so that she was pressing it to the laceration next to her spine. All the while she just stared at him, half in astonishment, half in indignation. She did not move her hand from where he'd placed it, though, and she very carefully set the shard on a blank sheet of parchment on Potter's desk. She finally shifted her glare to her best friend. "Evidence?" she asked quietly.

Harry shrugged, running a hand over his hair; Draco did not miss the spark of amusement in his eyes as he observed Hermione's irritation. "I don't see why not. I'll get it down there before we leave for the night – or it can probably wait until morning."

"Speaking of leaving," Draco drawled coolly, sitting back down in his chair. "I've got a standing invitation to stay with Zabini at his townhome, but it's a two bedroom place, and not very heavily warded. I think it's safe to say that whoever is responsible for this doesn't wish to harm Pansy or Eleanor, seeing as he had ample opportunity to do so, but I'd rather not take any chances."

"Nor I," Harry added, looking concerned. Draco internally rolled his eyes. Of _course_ Potter would be concerned. No matter what Pansy had done to him in the past, he was so bloody saint-like that it didn't matter. Any and all wariness or resentment that Potter might've felt once upon a time had disappeared – if it had ever existed to begin with. Harry Potter didn't really know how to hold a grudge. Or perhaps he just didn't have the energy for it.

"Is there a good safe house that she can stay at?" he asked, scratching at a shallow scrape on the back of his hand.

Harry grimaced. "A few. They are safe, but they're still known by too many people for my liking – even if they are people I trust." He licked his lips and looked at Hermione. They shared a look, and it was like an entire conversation happened in the space of a second.

"Grimmauld Place would be the best bet," Granger hedged.

Draco frowned. "The old Black place? Isn't that your home?" he asked Harry.

His old nemesis nodded. "It's also the safest place in the city. It's been imbued with centuries of protective charms, not to mention all of the wards that were put up for the Order and then again when I made it my home. No one except the Minister, certain members of the Order, and Hermione and Ron even knows where it is."

Draco nodded slowly. "For liability reasons, I don't want to know."

"That's good, because I wasn't going to tell you," Harry replied, his lips quirking up. "Wouldn't it be perfect timing for you to come back to England, have unfettered access to my house, and then have something happen to us? The media would love that. Despite how things have calmed down over the years, there are still many here that would jump at any excuse to put you in Azkaban." His smirk was gone, his tone serious. A chill went down Draco's spine; it was the truth, however bitter. "I will, however, give you floo access if you feel the need to come check on her." He shrugged. "But both Hermione and myself will be there, and Kreacher. I think it's safe to say she'll be in good hands."

Draco let go of the immediate reluctance that burgeoned in his chest. There was a part of him that wanted to say that he could take care of her, that he didn't trust anyone else with the job, that he wasn't about to just leave her in someone else's house. But then he considered the people she would be staying with. Potter and Granger were not only competent Aurors; they were incapable of harming or even neglecting those that were entrusted to them. Regardless of their profession – even if they'd chosen to be librarians or something – they would take the job very seriously. So he relaxed, if only a little.

Pansy suddenly cleared her throat. "All of my things are gone," she said, squinting as if to stave off more tears. He heard them in her voice, though. "Except for the clothing that I keep at my shop, but I'll hardly be able to wear formal clothes every day." She sniffed. "I don't even have a toothbrush."

Hermione shook her head. "Don't worry about that right now, Parkinson. You can borrow some of my clothes – we're close enough in size – and we can easily transfigure a toothbrush for you. Then in the next few days we can work on rebuilding your possessions. I can shop for you, until we feel it's safe enough for you to leave the house."

Pansy nodded, but still looked ill at ease. There was also a flash of something familiar that warmed Draco's heart: the indignation and snobbery at the prospect of wearing someone else's clothes. He preferred it to the hazy look of shock that she'd sported all night. "All of my coin is at Gringotts."

"I'll spot you, Pans," Draco said easily. "You can just pay me back later."

"The three of us have no shortage of money," Harry said with a small smirk. "I think we'll manage," he told Pansy.

Her lips quirked, and she bobbed her head. "And Eleanor?"

Harry snorted. "I have a four-month-old son, Parkinson," he reminded her. "She'll feel right at home. Hermione will get some new clothes for her, as well." He paused. "Despite her terrible teenage years, she actually has a very good sense of style. You needn't worry that she'll get anything horrendous."

Hermione smacked him on the back of the head with the flat of her hand, looking sullen. "I was _not_ that bad."

Draco huffed out a laugh that he was unable to control, and put a fist over his mouth when she turned that glare on him. He looked over, and Pansy's eyes danced with humor.

"Moving on," Hermione snarled, "shall I take her to Grimmauld and you go get James, or vice versa?"

Harry sighed tiredly. "You're better at extracting yourself from Molly's company than I am," he said, looking regretful. "Do you mind?"

She gave him a quick and mischievous grin that made Draco blink. It was hard to ignore how stunning she'd become while she stood before him in his house colors, her skin browned by the sun. "You'll owe me."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I already owe you thirty times over," he said grumpily. "You can just add this one to the tally." He looked at Draco. "I trust you can find your way to Zabini's?"

He nodded, running a hand over Pansy's hair absentmindedly as they all stood. "I'll just confirm to him that she's safe," Draco said. "But nothing else. I know the drill. What time should I be here in the morning?"

"Eight is good," Harry said. "We've got a lot to talk about."

Draco nodded. "Does Shacklebolt know of my presence here, and the fact that I'll be employed by the Ministry come tomorrow afternoon?" He felt inexplicitly anxious. He'd only been back to England a handful of times since he'd left seven years ago, and even then it was to visit discreetly with Pansy or Blaise, in the privacy of their homes. No one else had known.

What would the response be tomorrow when he walked through the halls of the Ministry for the first time in over seven years? Adrian had seemed friendly enough, but they'd been a year apart at Hogwarts and in the same house. They'd played quidditch together. The rest of them had seemed fairly neutral, even if Katie Bell wouldn't meet his eyes; but then again he doubted she ever would.

But what about the rest of them? He knew everyone was aware of his "heroic" actions during the war (rubbish – heroism was going above and beyond; what he had done was simply the right thing, something that any good person would do). But would it be enough to erase years of bad history, and the stigma associated with being a Malfoy? The Malfoy name had all but disappeared from British wizarding society: he was the last living member of his family, and he'd sold Malfoy Inc. to Goldstein and Co. as soon as he'd been lucid enough to do so. He'd washed his hands clean of this country and his history here – but had everyone else done the same?

Doubtful.

Also, his appearance these days tended to unnerve people. When people met his mismatched eyes, they either couldn't look away fast enough or stared unabashedly. If he ever wore short sleeves, the evidence of the acromantula attack was plain for all to see; which was why he rarely wore short sleeves. Occasionally black-tinged blood would leak from his ear if he went too long without getting the venom drained, which he was supposed to do twice a week but often neglected.

He supposed he would have to get in touch with St. Mungo's tomorrow. He'd heard that Padma had moved back to England a couple of years ago, and he trusted her more than any other doctor he would find. He'd have to ask her if she'd be willing to attend to his medical needs now that he was home.

Home. What a strange thing. Blaise had given the order to destroy Malfoy Manor at Draco's behest five years ago, and the land had been sold to a wizarding orphanage that he'd decided to fund. For five years he had donated thousands of galleons to the organization, which was run by his Aunt Andromeda and Susan Bones. He was not heavily involved in its management, but he wrote to his aunt every month to ask how things were going. She had taken to sending pictures of both the orphan children and her grandson Teddy, which made Draco feel equal parts touched and uncomfortable. He'd never been one for affection – neither giving nor receiving. But damn if that kid wasn't really fucking cute.

"I'll send Kingsley a memo," Potter replied. "It'll be fine. He'll be thrilled, actually. When I first told him I wanted to try to hire you he fully supported it – not only because of your skills and experience, but because he wanted to continue to move in the right direction with the unity movement that started after the war. He thought you would be a perfect candidate – to show how things are moving forward, and how tolerance is important, etcetera etcetera."

Draco rolled his eyes, but smirked. "Glad I can be of service." He paused, and cocked his head. "Is my presence going to cause trouble for you?" he asked more seriously.

Harry shrugged. "Some, I'm sure. But I know how to handle it. And Hermione has connections at the Prophet. Skeeter is in our corner."

The wicked grin that spread slowly across her face captivated Draco. Pansy shifted Eleanor on her shoulder, and stared at Granger curiously. "Dare I ask?" his oldest friend inquired.

Hermione winked. "A bit of blackmail goes a long way. Plus, now that Parvati has risen to the top, I have her support as well. I know how to twist a story. I've been doing it for almost a decade now."

Pansy smiled tremulously, looking intrigued. "Sounds like fun."

Granger shrugged. Draco's eyes were drawn to the freckles on her slim shoulders. "It certainly can be." Eleanor turned her head, blinking her eyes open and yawning tiredly. "I think your little one is ready for bed," Hermione said with a gentle smile.

Pansy jiggled her child in her arms as Eleanor started to fuss. "She's probably a bit hungry, as well," she said sheepishly.

Harry opened the floo in his office. He looked at Pansy. "You go ahead first."

Pansy nodded, and stepped in, her bare feet becoming covered in ash. She grabbed a handful of floo powder, and looked at Draco one last time; he gave her a reassuring nod. She threw it down, and green flame consumed her as she said, "Number Twelve Grimmauld Place!" Then she was gone.

Harry stepped up after her. "You'll close everything up behind you?" he asked his best friend.

Hermione nodded. "See you in a bit."

With another burst of green flame, he was gone as well, and now Draco was alone with Hermione. She turned to him, and gestured to the fireplace.

He stepped into it, and turned back to look at her. "Goodnight, Granger," he said, keeping his voice cool. "By the way – green suits you," he said with a smirk.

He relished in the blush that colored her cheeks and the spark of irritation in her eyes. With a shout of "109 Wenlock Lane" she disappeared from his sight and he was flung through space.

oooo

* * *

 **Please review! Next chapter will be up within a couple of weeks.**

 **xoxo**


	5. Chapter 3

**So in this story, Narcissa isn't there to lie to Voldemort about Harry's "death". Voldemort just assumes. Just so you know. :)**

* * *

oooo

"I didn't love him."

Hermione looked up from where she was digging through a dresser drawer, her eyes drawn to Pansy's wan form. The former Slytherin sat tiredly on the edge of the bed, freshly showered and wrapped in a fluffy sage green towel. She stared at the drawer that Hermione was looking through, watching dispassionately as Hermione pulled out a soft blue t-shirt and a pair of Harry's boxers; it would have to do, until Hermione could get over to her apartment in the morning to grab something more suitable. Besides, he didn't use these old clothes anyway – hence why they were in the guest room dresser, and not in his own.

"Malfoy told me it was an arranged union," she said casually, trying to put Pansy at ease. Or at least as much at ease as she could get, given the circumstances.

Pansy nodded. "Since my sixth year. Father signed legally binding contracts. I had no say in it. But Rolf needed an heir, and needed my family money. Father was more than happy to accommodate him, as long as he could gain the attachment to Rolf's good name and the importance of his position in the German Ministry." She paused, picking at a loose thread on the towel. "Of course, he and Mother both died before they were ever able to reap the benefits." She gave a bitter smile. "Sweet irony."

Hermione frowned. "I always envied you Purebloods growing up," she said, wondering why she was speaking so personally with a woman who had tortured her throughout school. "I envied that you had grown up in magical families, and that you had standing in the wizarding world, and that you had everything seemingly laid out on a silver platter. I envied the fact that you would never have to work ten times harder than everyone else just to prove your worth." She paused, and handed the two articles of clothing to Pansy, who quickly donned them, unconcerned with her nakedness. She was lovely and pale, her figure not athletic but still lithe and willowy. "Over the years, I realized that perhaps I had it backwards. I saw how little control Malfoy had over his own life, and I pitied him."

The pale girl nodded, and tucked a piece of black hair behind her ear. "It was the opposite for me. I pitied you, and then I envied you. Seems we both had a warped perception of life."

Hermione gave her a sad smile. "Just proves how little we know, in the grand scheme of things. It's been humbling, for me. I find I no longer judge so harshly."

She pulled the covers back for Pansy, and helped her sink down into them. She suspected Pansy would not be so pliant if she hadn't been in shock – her pride and snobbishness would have turned her nose up at someone tucking her in like a child. But she was traumatized, and grateful for the compassion that she was being shown, and Hermione knew that she needed this kind of support right now.

"Do you think you'll be able to sleep?" she asked quietly.

Pansy nodded. "I'm exhausted."

"I'm staying here tonight as well," Hermione said. "If you need anything, just ask. Kreacher is always around, and Harry is used to being awakened at all sorts of hours because of James. And I'll be just up the stairs," she added.

Pansy's eyes were already slipping closed. "Thanks, Granger."

"You're welcome."

"No really," Pansy said quietly, her eyes heavy with exhaustion. "You've been so good to me tonight. You and Potter both. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't been there. So thank you for looking out for Eleanor and me. It means a lot."

Hermione smiled at her. "You're very welcome." She paused in the doorway. "Good night, Parkinson."

"Night."

Pansy was asleep before she shut the door.

Hermione sighed and ran a hand through her hair, which had come out of its elegant up-do quite some time ago. She stepped across the hallway, pushing open the nursery door.

Harry stood between the two cribs, staring down at the two infants that slept peacefully; one with light brown hair and blue eyes, and one slightly smaller, with black hair and hazel eyes. Harry observed them with something like awe written across his features. Hermione studied his handsome profile and hopelessly spiky hair.

"I envy them their innocence," Harry said quietly, his voice almost a whisper. "Untouched by the evil of the world, blissfully unaware of tragedy and pain and fear and loss." He looked to her, and his eyes were tired. "Is she asleep?"

Hermione nodded. "Soundly."

He sighed. "Now what?"

"Now, Harry Potter, _we_ go to sleep," she said sternly, guiding him out of the nursery with a gentle, firm hand on his shoulder. "There is nothing more we can do tonight, and there's precious little time between now and tomorrow morning in which to get some rest. So go to bed."

He pulled her into his arms, and she hugged him fiercely. "You are amazing," he said into her hair. "And I love you."

"I love you too," she said, blinking away tears of emotion. "Very much." She pulled back, and gave him a trembling smile. "Go on then, Harry," she said. "The Chosen One needs his rest."

He snorted and rolled his eyes. "Yeah. Right. I'll get right on that."

That night, each and every one of them slept deeply and devoid of dreams. Even the babies were silent. It was the rest of the truly exhausted, the sleep of those who have been overloaded with emotional and mental and physical turmoil. And it was good that they were granted such fortune, because over the next few months sleep would become harder and harder to find.

* * *

oooo

Blaise swirled his scotch around in his glass, staring at his best friend, who sat opposite him in the lounge. Draco was silent, staring into his own drink with a preoccupied expression.

"She looks good, doesn't she?"

Draco looked up, and narrowed his eyes. "Pardon?"

Blaise grinned. "Hermione."

Draco snorted incredulously, but Blaise noted that the blond wouldn't meet his eyes. "If you say so."

He scoffed. "Don't play games with me, Draco. I know you too well." He paused, staring into his best friend's mismatched eyes. There was a whole host of bitterness in that silvery gaze. "I know you're still half in love with her."

Draco stood abruptly, draining the rest of his drink and setting the empty glass down on the table next to him. He stared at Blaise with a stony, inscrutable expression. "I was never in love with Granger, nor do I feel anything for her beyond respect. Besides, she's hardly the prettiest woman out there."

Blaise barked out a laugh, but said nothing. Draco fumed.

Hermione Granger had grown up to be a stunning woman, and anyone with eyes couldn't deny it. The fact that Draco had downplayed her looks only served to further convince Blaise that the blond did, in fact, have feelings for her and was simply caught in the net of denial. His lips quirked.

Draco rolled his eyes. "I'm going to bed," he drawled, schooling his expression into one of feigned boredom. "It's been a long night."

Blaise hummed in acknowledgement, and Draco headed for the door.

"I think I might ask her out," Blaise said slyly, his tone nonchalant. "Granger, I mean. We get on really well. I think she'll say yes, don't you? We've – "

Draco's empty tumbler shattered on the table, sending shards of glass flying throughout the room. Blaise barely managed a passable shield charm wandlessly to protect himself, but a piece still caught him across the cheek. He brought his hand up to touch the scratch, and his fingers came away stained with blood.

He chuckled, ignoring the pain in favor of the triumph that came with making his point. "I take it that I don't have your blessing then?" he said scathingly, taking another sip of his drink.

Draco twisted around in the doorway, glaring at him with hot, angry eyes. "Fuck you, Blaise," he spat hatefully. Then he turned and stalked off down the hall.

Blaise grinned to himself. "Respect, my arse," he mumbled.

* * *

oooo

Harry stood in the doorway of his guest bedroom, rubbing at his eyes wearily. He slipped in quietly, going to the edge of the bed and standing over the sleeping woman below.

Parkinson looked rather unassuming when she wasn't pouting or sneering, he thought. She was peaceful in sleep, her long lashes casting shadows on her cheeks. The covers had ridden down over the night, and her shirt had ridden up, causing her to shiver. He reached down and tugged the sheets and comforter back up, tucking them around her slim form.

He sighed, blinking rapidly. He was already regretting his decision to wear contacts today. England hadn't gotten any rain in the last few weeks, and the drought was causing the air to be dusty and stagnant, wreaking havoc with his allergies. It was funny – for all the things magic _could_ do, it was frustrating how much it _couldn't_ do. Like cure eyesight, for example.

He put a gentle hand on Pansy's shoulder and shook her awake. She blinked her eyes open blearily, cobalt blue sharpening on his face.

"I just wanted to let you know that Hermione and I are headed out," he said softly. "You can sleep for as long as you like – Kreacher will look after Eleanor, and Hermione will be back around lunchtime to check on you and bring you some clothes."

She yawned, and nodded, still half asleep. "M'kay," she said sleepily. "Thanks, Potter."

He made sure the blankets were secure around her once more, and then slipped back out quietly, pulling the door so that it was barely cracked. He looked in on James and Eleanor again, smiling at his son fondly, and then went down the stairs.

He nodded to Kreacher in greeting. "You know the drill, Kreacher," he said, his voice tired. "If they need anything at all, just come on to the Ministry and notify me or Hermione. Molly will be by in a couple of hours just to check on things."

Kreacher bowed his head, looking as old as ever. "Of course, Master."

Harry climbed into the fireplace. "Thanks, Kreacher," he said, and then he was throwing silver powder down at his feet and spinning away through space.

When he arrived at the Ministry, it was blessedly quiet. Adrian Pucey spoke in soft tones to one of the Auror trainees, a pretty little blonde named Meghan, and Fay Dunbar sat at her desk, looking down at a pile of papers with a vacant expression on her face. He looked to his left and saw that Hermione was already in her office, turning lights on and tidying up in preparation for the day. He noticed that she had put some extra effort into her hair today – though it was not nearly as rebellious as it had been when she'd been in school – and that she was wearing something that looked suspiciously like eyeliner. Hermione had learned how to present herself well over the years, considering she was something of a celebrity, but the only makeup she usually wore was some mascara and some rouge and lip stain to give her more color. Her skin was good enough that she didn't need much else.

He shook his head. He knew that, even after all these years, she still had some sort of emotional tie to Draco Malfoy. But he wasn't sure how he felt about her actually being… _interested_ in him. Now that Malfoy was here, in the flesh, it became a tangible, palpable possibility, and it was really odd to think about.

Speak of the devil – or rather _think_ of the devil – and he shall appear. With a roar, the DMLE floo flared green and the blond git stepped out, absently brushing soot off of his charcoal suit and unbuttoned outer robes. Predictably, he looked like he'd just walked out of a bloody fashion magazine, despite the mismatched eyes and the hint of something black that peeked out from underneath the sleeve of his jacket. Harry wondered what Malfoy looked like shirtless these days – what sort of lasting damage the acromantula had done to his body.

He was carrying something though – something that caught Harry's eye. It was a drink tray with four cups of coffee.

Wordlessly Malfoy handed Harry one of the cups, and Harry looked at it skeptically. "How do you know how I like my coffee?" he asked suspiciously.

Draco smirked at him. "I know you made a habit of being totally oblivious throughout our school years, but I can assure you that I was not. I ate in the same hall as you did for six years, Potter."

Harry shrugged, and then took a sip. It was, indeed, just how he liked it. A strong Americano with a double shot of espresso. He lifted an eyebrow. "Thanks for being a creepy stalker at school, Malfoy," he said dryly.

The blond grinned, and the transformation of his face was so complete that Harry had to blink. It was gone so quickly that he thought he might have imagined it. "It was my displeasure, Potter."

Hermione came stalking out of her office, obviously smelling coffee. She looked over to where they stood, and Harry saw her stiffen a bit before coming over to them, her heels clacking on the tile floor.

"Good morning," she said with a slight smile. "Coffee?"

Malfoy handed her a cup that had the initials "HG" on the top. She took it from him, wrapped her hands around it, sniffed deeply, and then took a sip. Her body seemed to relax upon contact.

"You are a saint," she breathed, her eyes fluttering closed.

Draco snorted softly. "I admit, that's not a line I've ever heard directed at me before," he said, his tone laced with sarcastic humor. He absentmindedly handed Adrian the third cup, and then kept the fourth one for himself. "It's an interesting role reversal."

Hermione's lips quirked. "Don't get used to it, Malfoy."

"Don't worry," he replied back with a subtle smile. "You and Potter have the sainthood thing covered. I'll slip back into the role of the sullen Slytherin here in a moment."

Hermione nodded, her eyes full of humor. "Good. Don't let it happen again."

He snorted. "Know-it-all."

"Ferret."

The blond rolled his eyes as Hermione let slip a grin, and then tossed the drink tray into the rubbish bin. "I need to use the loo before all the glaring and spitting starts," he drawled, adopting a moue of sulking acceptance. He lifted his cup in a mock toast. "The things I endure for queen and country," he said with a cynical sigh.

As he walked away, Harry called out to him. "Head down to the Minister's office. I've told him to expect you. I'll be there shortly to help with paperwork and all the red tape."

Malfoy nodded, understanding in his eyes. He knew Harry also needed to time to address the Department without Draco present. He reached the lift, raised a disdainful eyebrow at them, and then disappeared from view. It was such a Malfoy expression that it made Harry's heart ache with nostalgia.

Hermione scowled. "You don't think people will actually spit on him, do you?" she asked sharply, her tone laced with a certain sadness. It was the tone that she used when she found a cause to pursue, and it was usually followed by the expression that meant she was about to go on some sort of justiciable rampage. Hermione was nothing if not predictable.

Harry sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He'd been here for less than ten minutes, and already he dreamed of going home. "There's no telling. I'm going to try to nip that issue in the bud as soon as everyone arrives; but sometimes people are stuck in their ways, Hermione."

She snorted into her cup. "Don't I know it," she grumbled. When she met his gaze again, her eyes were alight with the fire of justice. He felt his heart warm. "We need to enforce that as best we can. And, if he's agreeable, we need to try to be seen with him in public as much as possible. Show the press that we're comfortable with him."

Harry looked at her skeptically. "But I'm _not_ comfortable with him."

She rolled her eyes. "Then that we trust him, at least. That we trust him professionally and personally."

"I don't trust him either, Hermione," he said impatiently.

Her jaw ticked, and her eyes flared. "Well, _I_ do. Perhaps that will be enough."

Then she turned and walked back into her office, and Harry felt that familiar shame that came with her disappointment. He sighed, and sipped at his coffee.

It was hard living up to Hermione's standards. Despite her air of self-importance (far less annoying than it had been in her youth), Hermione was in possession of a sort of compassion that he would never quite understand. She had always been concerned with justice; with fairness. Hell, she could be downright _vengeful_ sometimes, and it was terrifying to watch. But when she got a cause into her head – the rights of the downtrodden, the cruelty of the prison system, the inequality perpetrated by blood purity – she was like a dog with a bone. A very determined dog. A dog with very large teeth, and a strong jaw. A dog that never needed sleep or food or water or rest – just that singular goal to hold onto that bone. And then she would chew it to death until it was shaped to her specifications, and finally let it go and bury it. And still she would stand guard at that burial site and snarl at anyone who tried to steal the bone that she had so painstakingly won and claimed as her own.

He loved her to death. She and Ron were the most important people in his life, except for James. They were the most loyal and the most reliable friends anyone could ever ask for. Especially Hermione. While Ron would do anything for him, he also had a wife and a child on the way, and traveled a lot for his career in quidditch. So it was always Hermione that he called first. She was always there. Harry _was_ her family; she didn't have relatives of her own, not after she'd sent her parents away during the war. So anytime Harry or any of the Weasleys or Neville or Luna was in trouble, she was always the one to count on to throw her whole self into getting them out of it. And she was a good listener. And she gave pretty good advice, even if it was sometimes unwanted.

She was right about how to deal with the Malfoy situation, of course. She was almost always right. And he always ended up swallowing his pride and conceding.

Besides, Malfoy had saved his life, once upon a time. The blond had gone against everything he'd believed, everything he'd once stood for, to give them a chance to live. He'd turned against the maniac who had held him hostage in his home for months, and had risen above that fear and oppression. He'd killed his own _father_ for the Golden Trio – three people who he had grown up despising, hating merely on principle. He'd hated them for so long, and vice versa, that Harry suspected it was mostly just habit towards the end. Sometimes you got so used to something that you continued with it because it was familiar. Or because it was expected.

He actually sympathized with Malfoy. Neither of them had had any control. It's just that one of them was born on the right side, propelled by a prophecy, and the other was born on the wrong side, propelled by family and hatred. In the end, they had both made choices – the only thing in this world that they had had any modicum of control over. And Harry respected Draco for making the right choice; for Harry, that choice had always been right in front of him, the natural choice. The choice to fight for good, to sacrifice himself for his family and friends. It had not been easy – but it had been _simple_. Malfoy had made a choice that was so far out of the realm of what any thought possible – and Harry couldn't begin to imagine how impossibly hard and complicated it had to have been.

Besides, though Malfoy's actions had been undeniably heroic, it did not come _naturally_ to him. It was in Harry's nature to look out for others, to do what was right for the greater good. It was the same for Hermione, and Ron. Malfoy had grown up caring for himself and those very close to him, and as a Slytherin he was naturally clever and ambitious and self-preserving. There was nothing wrong with that; but add a healthy dose of pureblooded brainwashing to those traits, and the end result was not a good person.

Harry still wasn't sure if he would consider Malfoy a good person. But he had really turned his life around. According to his records from Sweden he was something of a workaholic, and was very protective of his partner Elsa and her family. His file was full of positive achievements in law enforcement. Though he was never warm and fuzzy, and was hard on himself and others, he had proven to be a good leader, if a little moody. He also maintained distance between himself and others, only forming a true connection with his partner. In Japan, he had gotten close with Padma Patil. The two had become fast friends, and still exchanged letters and such.

Harry also had it on good authority that most of the money that funded the Tonks Home for Children was from Draco's personal bank account. He'd cheated and pulled the records one time when Andromeda had clammed up about the orphanage's funding. They were supposed to be confidential records – and the orphanage was a private business, so the files weren't a matter of public record – but he'd called in a couple of favors (like the Slytherin he claimed he wasn't) and had cracked open the mystery of who kept the home running.

He'd wondered ever since why Malfoy wanted his involvement a secret. The Draco Malfoy back in school would have demanded his name be displayed on the building in gold.

Then again, they weren't in school anymore, and the Malfoy name was not dropped often in Britain anymore. And he was certain that had been intentional on Draco's part.

He obviously cared about Pansy a lot if he was willing to plunge back into the drama that would undoubtedly unfold upon his return to his homeland.

Hermione was right. They needed to do everything they could to do right by Malfoy and to try to make the transition a little easier. Harry's initial reluctance had been childish, and it put him to shame.

So when the rest of the DMLE filed in for work (minus a few agents out on field assignments), and they had all gathered in the main hall for briefing, he nodded to his best friend in assurance and began to speak.

"Firstly," he started, trying to make his voice sound less tired, "as most of you know by now, Rolf Weismeiner was killed last night in his home. I can't discuss details at the moment, but many of you will be working on this case with Hermione and me." He paused. "This is a priority. The murder was incredibly ritualistic, and extremely violent, and it is likely that something like this might happen again."

Millicent Bulstrode raised her hand with a look of consternation. He nodded to her; while rather taciturn, and taller than most men he knew, Millie was a very good Auror – quiet, but thoughtful and observant. "You think we have a potential serial killer on our hands?" she asked.

He nodded. "It's just a gut feeling, at the moment. No one can know for sure. Not until it happens again – which I dearly hope we catch the guy before it _can_ happen again." The people in the hall shifted uncomfortably.

"What about Mrs. Weismeiner?" Hadrian Finkley inquired. "Is she unharmed? Where is she?"

Harry shook his head. "I'm unable to confirm anything at this time, Hadrian. It's too early." Finkley nodded, but looked disappointed.

"Secondly," he said again, scanning the room in preparation for peoples' reactions; he knew Hermione was doing the same, and Adrian. "I've hired a new Investigative Auror," he said, making his voice serious and his expression stern. "He'll be working with us on this case, as he might have some insight that could be useful; regardless, he's an excellent agent. I wouldn't hire him if he wasn't." A pin could have dropped and been heard. "Draco Malfoy has returned to England, and will be joining us today," he said shortly.

Immediately the ranks of the DMLE erupted in various levels of noise.

Seamus's ears turned red. He looked angry. "Come on, Harry, ye've got to be kidding me," he said. "That tosser? I don't care if he saved yer life way back when – he's not trustworthy."

"Sir, what could possibly be gained by this?" Fiona Fitchley hedged, looking nervous but irate. "Surely he doesn't belong here."

" – be crucified as soon as he climbs out of the floo – "

" – spit on in the streets, though I can hardly _blame_ them – "

" – the Malfoy name is nothing but trouble – "

" – won't last a day, he was always lazy in school – "

" – people _hate_ him, Potter, it will be _hell_ for him here – he shouldn't have to deal with that, no matter who he is – "

" – and wasn't he bitten by an acromantula? I heard a rumor he's still sick, still poisoned – "

" _ENOUGH!"_

They instantly quieted. Harry was surprised at the volume of his own voice. But the comments that he heard irritated him – they irritated him more than he had expected. Next to him, he could practically feel Hermione fuming, feel the force of her glare.

He narrowed his eyes and gritted his teeth. "Despite his previous injury, Malfoy is a more than capable agent," he said firmly. "He's surpassed every one of you on his aptitude tests – for the past five years. So please, feel free to take this moment to get off of your high horse," he said acidly.

They were silent, but shifty. A couple of them looked even more stubborn at the news. "It might surprise you to hear that I even attempted to hire Malfoy two years ago," he stated, "with the Minister's complete approval. You insult my judgment, and Kingsley's, and Hermione's, by labeling our decision as the wrong one." They were silent at that – a few even looked down in shame. "We are in need of new agents. As most of you know, Stretton is transferring soon, and it bereaves me to inform you that Auror Peakes was killed last night."

A lump formed in his throat at the admission. The hall erupted in whispers and gasps and a few tears. He gave them a moment.

"How?" Meghan asked, wiping away a tear.

Harry sighed, looking at her regretfully. "I can't reveal that information at this time," he said tiredly. "I'll let everyone know as soon as I can. But right now we are still processing, and I can't speak much at the moment about the events of last night. So please be patient with me."

The hall simmered back down, but he saw quite a few handkerchiefs dab at weeping eyes. He felt like weeping himself. The space behind his eyes ached.

"Malfoy is a huge asset to this department," he continued coolly. "Any one who harasses him or refuses to work cooperatively with him will be immediately suspended." Faces went slack in shock. "A second time will result in termination. Malfoy is strictly professional. And not many of you will have to work with him directly. But I expect all of you, regardless of any history or bad blood, to maintain the same professionalism and let go of any resentment or hatred that will effect your work." He paused. Most of them looked like they were starting to come around. That was a good sign. "I shouldn't need to remind you that, if not for Draco's actions, Ron and George Weasley, Hermione and myself would not be walking among you." The statement rang true deep within his soul. "We would all be dead. That has no bearing on the fact that I am hiring him – I don't hire people based on guilt or debt. All of you know this. I've always been fair. But perhaps you should ask yourself the question of whether or not you would commit patricide to save people you should rightly hate." He paused. "I can say right now that I wouldn't have that sort of conviction. Malfoy chose us over his own father. That is a rare and tragic thing," he said heavily, "and I hope you realize the gravity of that sort of action."

They were all silent. Even Seamus looked less likely to blow a gasket. Meghan looked pale. Fiona looked contrite.

Finally, Hermione spoke up. "As Harry said, he's always been fair. I don't know a single one of you that would dispute that." Many of them shook their heads in confirmation. "So make an effort to practice that same fairness. The war ended a long time ago. Blood prejudice maintains but a tenuous hold on this society. Largely, the wizarding world is at peace – and I think we've all learned that sometimes people aren't what we once thought they were. We've all grown up. Trust me when I say that Malfoy has done the same." Her voice was calm and steady. Her lips curved in a sardonic smile. "He will always be a snarky bastard, but he's good at his job. So let him do it. Help each other. The time for intolerance is long past. If someone like Draco Malfoy can move on, then there's no excuse for the rest of us."

She walked away back to her office, and reappeared a moment later with her outer robes slung over her arm. Harry nodded to her, and then looked at Felicity, who had remained stoic and unfazed throughout the entire briefing. "You know who to involve in the case," he said, trusting her to make the best decisions. "I'll be back in a few minutes – I have a meeting with the Minister. Let Adrian help you out with the coordination of the case, and I'll review everything when I get back."

Then he thanked her, and followed Hermione to the lift. He could already feel a headache beginning to throb at his temples.

As soon as the lift started to move, he turned towards his best friend of fourteen years. "I'm sorry I doubted you earlier. It was childish." He paused, meeting her bright sorrel gaze. "And it bothered me more than I thought it would when they gave such a negative response."

She shrugged, and then dropped her head onto his shoulder. "I wish he'd stayed," she admitted softly. "After the war. I wish he'd been here to help us move forward. It was great having Zabini and Nott and Millie and Daphne help move us past that mutual prejudice that we were entrenched in – but Malfoy would have been the most potent catalyst for change. And now he's back after having been gone for seven years, and it's still raw in everyone's minds. I feel like we're going to have to go through this process all over again."

"Doesn't seem fair," Harry murmured in agreement.

"That's because it isn't," she snorted, her lips forming a heartbreakingly cynical smile. Funny, how war warped people.

He put an arm around her and rubbed her shoulder, pulling her closer to him. He inhaled her lavender and parchment smell, and felt her wild hair tickle his neck, and saw where ink had already begun to stain her fingers. He smiled.

"Now what?" Hermione asked quietly.

He sighed. He wasn't sure if she was talking about the present situation or the broader picture. So he stuck with the one he could actually answer. "Now we go get ourselves a Malfoy."

"And hope it doesn't backfire on us," she muttered lowly.

"Come on, 'Mione," he said easily as the lift jolted to a stop. He let go of her and they stepped off onto the Minister's level. He looked at her and smiled bitterly. "When has life ever been that kind to us?"

* * *

oooo

As she stepped into the Minister's office, her eyes first went to Kingsley. Kingsley Shacklebolt was a powerhouse of a man, even in his fifties, and with his bright attire, large stature and loud booming voice he was instantly the center of attention any time he walked into a room.

Of course, if ever there were anyone to rival that particular power, it would be Draco bloody Malfoy. He sat in a chair across from Kingsley's desk, looking completely at ease and holding a cup of tea. His eyes flew up to them, and Hermione met that mismatched stare for a long shuddering moment before it slid over to Harry.

"Hermione, Harry," Kingsley said with a smile. "Good to see you. How did things go?"

Hermione assumed he was talking about the briefing. Harry sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "It went alright. I think Hermione and I talked most of them out of their objections. Most of it was just superficial." He paused. "I don't think Seamus should be on the case. He'd only be a distraction. I hate to lose his insight, but I can't have him blinded by his resentment."

Hermione watched Draco. He looked as though Harry hadn't even spoken. His face was the same, always the same. No emotion, no hints to what he was thinking – nothing.

She thought back to Draco Malfoy the boy. Before sixth year he had been a whirling, pent up ball of arrogance and anger. His fear had been plain to see, and he held nothing back when he expressed his hatred or ire or satisfaction. She'd even seen him laugh a few times, with his friends.

And then all of a sudden that whiny, transparent kid had morphed into a brooding, secretive adolescent, and he'd learned to hide his emotions away, learned to wipe his face of any expression that might give away his thoughts. And now he was a man – a man who had lived through a war _on the wrong side,_ a man who had seen terrible things, a man who had battled pain and illness and had come through it regardless. He was one of the best Aurors in Europe. And he had perfected his mask so well that she saw very little of the boy she had once despised and pitied.

She wondered what it was like underneath that mask. She wondered what it would take to get him to drop it. He had changed; that much was obvious. But into what? Into who?

"And who are the agents you absolutely _do_ want on the case?"

Harry sighed. "Hermione, Felicity, Pucey and myself will head up the investigation. Malfoy will be a consultant. All of those there at the scene last night will be included, of course – there is no way around it, and they're all among my best and brightest anyway."

Kingsley nodded. Then he gestured to the other chairs in front of his desk. "Please, sit. We have things to discuss, the first of which needs to be ironing out the details of Mister Malfoy's transfer." He tapped a stack of papers on his desk. "These are the records from Sweden. The Minister was not happy about handing them over – and less happy about handing Draco over. And Malfoy's partner is headed this way and will be here this afternoon." He looked to Draco. "She's bringing all of your things?"

Draco nodded. "Correct."

"And you've already found a place to stay?"

"Yes, Minister."

Hermione's eyebrows shot up. "You work quickly."

He looked at her, his expression still annoyingly vacant. "Daphne helped. It's not like it was tough. I don't need a lot, Granger."

Harry looked skeptical, but wisely refrained from saying anything. Restraint was something he'd finally gotten better at. Harry had never been the most socially inclined person. Ron had become rather good at it, and Hermione had learned it very quickly, but Harry had never been particularly good at refraining from blurting out his thoughts.

"Glad to hear it," Kingsley said. "If there's anything the Ministry can do to make the transition easier, let me know." Draco gave a curt nod. He was all business. Kingsley cleared his throat. "According to your records, you pass Auror requirements here with flying colors. But you will have to have a physical examination – standard procedure, really – because the records here show that you haven't had one in over a year. I assume you know what to expect?"

Draco nodded, looking unfazed. "Yes sir. What else?"

Kingsley sighed, and put down the stack of papers. He frowned. "There needs to be some clarification on one particular issue," he hedged. "A personal one. After the war, your mother was pronounced missing. But there was never any indication that she had been killed – no remains." He winced at the clinical way he said it. "You were too incapacitated to answer any questions at the time – and then you were in Japan, and out of our jurisdiction. Now you are back _in_ our jurisdiction, and we need to know the truth about her current whereabouts – alive or otherwise." He gave Malfoy an apologetic look. "I'm sorry to dredge it up. But it's important. If you are still in contact with her, that presents a potential distraction and a conflict of interest, seeing as, technically, she's still considered a wanted fugitive, and needs to be tried and sentenced. Which will probably end up being a mere formality, because she doesn't have the Dark Mark and was unwillingly involved in the events of the war."

He finished, and Hermione found herself looking to Draco, judging his reaction. She saw brief emotion flicker through his eyes, and his left hand twitched; then he was back to being as smooth as stone.

"My mother is dead, Minister Shacklebolt," he said hoarsely, his voice rough and tired. "Believe me."

Harry grimaced. "Unfortunately we can't just take you at your word, Malfoy," he said, his voice calm and just a touch patronizing. She saw Draco stiffen almost imperceptibly. "I need proof, or a statement under veritaserum."

Draco's eyes became hot with rage. They were so angry that Hermione wondered how he didn't lose his composure. But the only bodily indication of his emotion was the clenching of his jaw and the tic in his cheek.

"Will a memory suffice, Potter?" he said, his voice calm and low and laced with venom that she had no doubt Kingsley did not detect. It was something Harry and Hermione had heard many times over the course of their schooling, and while it wasn't anywhere near as blatant, they still recognized the tone. Hermione felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She had no good memories of Malfoy when that sort of poisonous speech was involved. And back then he had been a boy – now he was a man, and was very, very dangerous.

Harry narrowed his eyes, stiffening in defense. "If I determine it hasn't been tampered with, yes."

Malfoy raised his left arm up jerkily and pressed his wand to his temple. The brief pain that flashed across his features was terrifying in its intensity, and then his mask slid back into place, only interrupted by that tic in his cheek.

Hermione immediately conjured a bottle, intending on handing it to him, and jolted when Malfoy's right hand instead covered her own, steadying the bottle before siphoning the wispy memory into it. His palm was warm and dry and slightly callused. Then he met her eyes briefly, and dropped his hand away.

For some reason her heart was pounding a hard rhythm against her chest, flustering her. She turned in her seat and handed the bottle to Harry, who then looked to Kingsley. Wordlessly the Minister pulled open a drawer and took out a pensieve. He set it on the desk, and Harry poured the memory in and looked at Hermione. "You usually do this part, 'Mione – "

"No."

Hermione jolted as Malfoy barked out the order. That word held so much weight – it was so flawlessly authoritative that for a moment Hermione forgot that he was amongst superiors. She stared at him. He wouldn't meet her eyes, instead looking solely at Harry.

"You do it, Potter."

Harry looked confused, but nodded. Hermione looked back at Draco and narrowed her eyes.

"Any particular reason I'm not qualified to – "

"I said nothing about qualification, Granger," he interrupted sharply with a soft, subtle sneer. Hermione didn't even know sneers _could_ be subtle. "I have my own reasons. It has nothing to do with your aptitude. But I have the right to choose, and I'm invoking that right. Amendment 37, paragraph B."

Hermione fumed. How dare he cite the Code of Magical Law to her! She had a photographic memory, damn it. She could read the entire document to him verbatim.

Ponce.

Still, she gave him a tight smile; one that she knew he would see was insincere. "Very well. Harry it is."

Her messy-haired best friend shook his head in exasperation, but stood and approached the desk, looking down at the pensieve with trepidation. "Here goes nothing," he muttered, and then ducked his face into the wide stone bowl.

It took eight minutes for him to come out. Within the pensieve, it would have felt like hours. Hermione frowned.

When he finally came up, he gasped for air. His cheeks were wet with tears, his face as pale as she'd ever seen. To her surprise, Malfoy immediately summoned a trashcan and held it out to Harry just as her friend crashed to his knees and vomited violently.

He did this for two or three minutes before he finally wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve. Malfoy snorted softly in what might have been disgust, and pulled a stark white handkerchief out of his pants pocket. Harry took it from him with little hesitation, wiping the tears from his face and the spittle from around his mouth.

Hermione blinked rapidly, laying her hand on her friend's shoulder. He looked stricken. Abruptly he stood, and his chest heaved as he looked at Draco with wild eyes. "Report for your physical examination at two this afternoon. Hermione will help you get acquainted with the facilities – after you're finished, you have the rest of the time off until two. Wear something comfortable." He put a fist over his mouth, and cleared his throat. His hands were shaking. "Excuse me," he said sharply.

Then he was gone, whirling through the doors with Malfoy's handkerchief balled up in his tightly clenched fist. Hermione watched him go, eyes wide with consternation.

She and Kingsley both looked over to Malfoy, who vanished Harry's mess from the trashcan and levitated it back over to its appropriated corner. He cleared his throat, and then stuck his wand into the pensieve and pulled the memory back out, placing it back in the bottle. He corked it, and handed it to the Minister.

"I assume you need it for your records," Draco said, his voice steady and emotionless. "But I would appreciate it if it went in a confidential file. It's not something I want on public record."

"Of course," Kingsley said smoothly, falling back into his easy demeanor. "I'll make sure I file it among my personal things."

Draco nodded curtly. "Is there anything else that can't wait?"

Kingsley waved his hand towards the door. "Not now, Mister Malfoy. I wish you the best of luck getting situated back here in England. Let me know if there is anything I can personally do. My office is open to you at all times."

The blond gave a tight smile – tight, but genuine; the Minister of Magic did not offer such a thing to just anyone – and thanked him. Then he strode out of the office with a swish of blue robes, and Hermione gave one last "what the fuck just happened" look to Kingsley – to which he shrugged and appeared equally confused – before she turned and followed, exiting the Minister's office.

"Have a good day, Auror Granger," Kingsley's secretary said cheerily. Hermione threw a quick smile her way and muttered a hasty "you too" before barely managing to make it to the lift before the doors closed.

She lifted her head and glared at her childhood nemesis. The same boy that had tortured her mercilessly in school, the same boy that had spat venom at her when she'd beat him in all of their classes.

The same boy that had saved her life, once upon a time. The same boy that had shared some of himself with her, had been even a little bit vulnerable in front of her. The boy who'd touched her face ever-so-gently in the dark, who'd grinned at her over a wall of flame before he'd marched determinedly to his death.

Her breathed out through her nose, calming herself. Any feelings he might have had towards her seven years ago had obviously dissipated – just as her feelings towards him had. It was a new slate. He'd saved her life; she'd saved him from a life in Azkaban.

Somehow, that didn't seem just. She looked up into his mismatched eyes and immediately knew that it wasn't. Those things weren't equal at all. He had physically suffered for her. She had guaranteed a freedom that he probably would have won anyway because of his circumstances.

She cleared her throat. "What exactly happened back there?" she said, her voice unintentionally betraying her aggravation.

Draco looked back at her impassably. "It's not your business, Granger. Potter saw a memory that confirmed my mother's death. Suffice it to say she didn't die peacefully in her sleep." He rolled his eyes.

Hermione felt sympathy tug at her heartstrings. He must have seen it on her face, because he snarled at her.

" _Don't_ look at me like that, Granger," he said tersely. "I don't want your pity. Keep your bleeding heart to yourself, would you?"

Her nostrils flared, and she narrowed her eyes. "Sorry, some of us aren't as adept as you at not feeling anything, Malfoy." His eyes flashed. "Why didn't you want me to see?"

His eyelids flickered. Then he looked up at the ceiling, looking frustrated. "Leave it alone, Granger."

She glared and crossed her arms. "I will _not_ le – "

She stopped talking abruptly, suddenly transfixed by his left ear. Black liquid dribbled from his ear onto his neck, sinister and unnatural. She gasped. "Malfoy, there's black stuff leaking from your ear! Oh my God, we need to get you to St. Mungo's right now – " Unthinkingly, she reached up toward his ear just as he did the same.

"No, Granger, don't – "

oooo

* * *

 **Uh oh…**

 **A snippet from the next chapter:**

 _She chewed on her lip. Shouldn't she just take a peek? Just to make sure everything was all right? Before she could think her actions through – before it could occur to her that it might be a bad idea – she twisted the doorknob._

 **Please review!**

 **xoxo**

 **Giraffe :)**


	6. Chapter 4

**Sorry for the wait!**

* * *

oooo

 **Previously:**

 _She stopped talking abruptly, suddenly transfixed by his left ear. Black liquid dribbled from his ear onto his neck, sinister and unnatural. She gasped. "Malfoy, there's black stuff leaking from your ear! Oh my God, we need to get you to St. Mungo's right now – " Unthinkingly, she reached up toward his ear just as he did the same._

" _No, Granger, don't – "_

* * *

oooo

But it was too late. Malfoy caught her hand in his as she yanked it away with a hiss of pain.

Hermione's eyes watered immediately as smoke rose from her skin, the evil black substance coating the tips of her pointer and middle fingers. She shuddered in horror and pain, and did not protest when Draco enveloped her fingers in the soft blue fabric of his robes before raising them to his lips.

She jolted in surprise when he sucked them into his mouth, and he grimaced before pulling his head away and spitting onto the floor. Venom quickly ate into the carpeted floor of the lift. Immediately he snatched his wand from his pocket and muttered a cleaning spell on her hand before conjuring some gauze and wrapping it quickly around her fingers. She stared, transfixed and in pain, as blood seeped through the bandages. He cursed, and squeezed her fingertips in his hand to staunch the bleeding, and then when the lift doors opened onto the DMLE's level he yanked her out harshly.

"Are you bloody _stupid?"_ he hissed into her ear as he guided her along, one arm supporting her waist while the other hand still clutched her fingers in a tight grip. She felt light-headed. "What you just touched is approximately sixty percent acromantula venom. That shit will strip the skin from your flesh in a matter of seconds. What the _fuck_ were you thinking?"

She grunted, frowning at his criticism. "I wasn't thinking. And how come it doesn't affect you?" she asked petulantly, trying to ignore the stares of her colleagues as Malfoy swept her down the hall towards the floo. Or perhaps they weren't staring at her – who would be looking at her when such stupid physical perfection was walking next to her?

She just thought of something that she hadn't thought of before. Just how much of a distraction was Malfoy going to be to the female population of DMLE? He was one of those people that were literally impossible not to stare at. Would they all turn into simpering fools?

"Because I've had acromantula venom running through my veins for over seven years, Granger," he muttered lowly.

"Slow down," she whispered back. "You look like you're kidnapping me. This is not how you want to appear to the rest of the department your first day on the force."

He rolled his eyes. "I could give a flying fuck what they think of me, Granger," he drawled as he hauled her into the floo. He grabbed a handful of powder just as Hadrian Fitchley started towards them, looking suspicious. "St. Mungo's!"

Hermione squeaked as she whirled through space within the circle of Malfoy's arms, her hand still throbbing with unimaginable pain. His chest was pressed tightly against her back, one arm around her collarbone and the other clutching her injured right hand. When they landed in the bright lobby of the hospital, he instantly put distance between them and dragged her over to the front desk. Employees and patients alike stared at them in shock and curiosity.

Draco put his free hand on the desk and stared at the young woman behind the desk. She did not look up from her paperwork. "Can I help you?" she said idly.

"I need to speak with Padma Patil. It's urgent."

The woman hummed, still not looking up. "Healer Patil is with a patient. I'll put you on the waiting list."

"It wasn't a request."

Finally she looked up, and Hermione saw her instantly do a double take. Blue eyes widened behind lime green glasses. "I – I – "

"Tell her Draco Malfoy needs to see her, and that Auror Hermione Granger is here as well, and needs to be treated immediately for poisoning." He paused, fixing the poor secretary with an authoritative stare. "Do it now, please."

She gulped audibly. "Y-yes sir," she squeaked, immediately putting her wand to the speaker system. "Healer Patil to the lobby – Code Two."

Draco gave her a sharp nod. "Thank you for your assistance."

This time the girl looked less afraid and more flustered. "Erm, yes, of course, Mister Malfoy," she stuttered out, a pink blush staining her cheeks.

Hermione rolled her eyes as Malfoy sat down in a chair and pulled her down next to him. She glared at him as she felt all the eyes in the room drawn to them.

"Did you have to make such a spectacle?" she said lowly, narrowing her eyes. "Everyone is staring."

"Isn't your right hand your wand hand?" he asked curtly. She nodded. "Then I would cease your childish whining, and start hoping that your fingers won't be irreparably damaged." Her eyes widened. He squeezed her fingers harder, and she whimpered. "Besides, I thought by now you'd come to terms with the fact that you'll probably be stared at for the rest of your life. Hermione Jean Granger, one-third of the Golden Trio, the Gryffindor Golden Girl, the brains behind the deliverance of the wizarding world, the human manifestation of the tale of the Ugly Duckling."

She gasped in outrage. "I was _not_ ugly!" she said passionately. "You take that back!"

His grin was slow and devastating, and in her light-headed state it was overwhelming; in fact, she felt almost as if she were drunk. "No, I suppose you're right. Just awkward."

She sulked. "Not all of us can be Malfoys, you know," she grumbled, watching him out of the corner of her eye. "Pretty from the moment of conception."

He snickered. "Did you just admit that you think I'm pretty, Granger?" he said incredulously.

She glared at the tile floor, her hand still held captive in his. "Ponce." She snorted. "I think even Ron called you pretty once, Malfoy. It wasn't a compliment when he said it."

"I don't care what it was when _he_ said it, Granger," he said with a soft smirk. _"You_ just complimented me. I think I might faint. The great Hermione Granger, Witch Weekly's most eligible bachelorette six years running, is deigning to compliment little old me. I'm flattered."

"Oh, come off it," she hissed, feeling her cheeks heat. "I _hate_ that most eligible bachelorette crap."

He chuckled, and it was such a surreal moment that Hermione nearly shook her head in bewilderment. "They're coming for you again this year, Granger. Daphne told me."

She groaned and slumped in her chair. "I'm sure she's just thrilled to be out of the running."

His lips quirked. "She's very happy, being married. She and Theo both. But Daph never did like all the attention. Not like Pans used to."

"Used to?" she questioned, her ears perking up at the mention of Pansy's name. Not only because Pansy was currently smack dab in the middle of Hermione's case, but also because she was curious. Curious about the woman who had grown into her snub nose and out of her sneering countenance. The woman who was now living in her best friend's house until further notice.

Draco leaned his head back, and her eyes were drawn to his Adam's apple. His face was perfectly shaved, of course. Not a hint of stubble or a scab in sight. "The war humbled her a lot. Marriage even more so. She'll always be a snobby bitch, but she's aged out of her worst traits. She's grown up just like the rest of us have, Granger."

"You love her." Hermione watched him. His eyes crinkled at the corners.

He cleared his throat, and she could see the discomfort in the lines of his face. "In my own way, yes. We were close, growing up."

"Didn't you two date? I remember that you took her to the Yule Ball."

He smiled. "The night of the famous blue dress."

Hermione frowned. "I thought she wore green."

"I wasn't talking about her," he replied, rolling his eyes. "Come now, Granger, surely you remember. You were the only thing that _any_ guy was looking at in that room. Even Potter had a hard time not staring at you, while he wasn't pining for the Chang girl. No one was ever able to look at you the same way again. I believe that was the only time I ever saw Blaise lose his composure," he said with a grin. "His mouth dropped open and he dribbled spiked punch down the front of his robes. Daph was his date, and she sulked in the corner all night, feeling overlooked. Every girl in the school hated you a little that night, Granger. I would have had a grand old time making fun of the whole situation, if I hadn't been so focused on my own self-loathing for finding you even remotely attractive."

Her heart was fit to beat right out of her chest. She continued to watch his profile. He was smiling fondly, not a trace of embarrassment or bitterness on his face. Only nostalgia.

"How very traitorous of you," she said slowly, keeping her voice steady.

He snorted. "I thought so at the time, of course. I hated myself for it. I could only think of what my father would say if he found out that I had actually looked at you for more than a sneering glance."

"Oh, the horror," she said dryly, only partly joking. In fact, she had no idea what horrors Draco had endured under that roof.

He breathed out through his nose. "No one ever knew, of course," Draco said.

"About…me?" she said awkwardly, feeling heat rise to her cheeks. "In the blue dress?"

"That my feelings on everything were starting to change," he corrected quietly. "Starting with the blue dress. So I covered it with even more vitriol and prejudice. Half trying to convince myself, half trying to convince everyone else."

"I was always so critical of you growing up – rightfully so, from my standpoint," she added, "but the truth is that I never thought to dig deeper. All I could see were the rich, snobbish Purebloods that teased me for my hair and hated me for my blood. But I never had to hide myself," she continued thoughtfully, feeling her head swim as her fingers started to throb more painfully. "I never had to pretend to be something I wasn't. I never had to fear retribution from friends and family for my beliefs. So I don't know what that's like."

Malfoy scuffed his fine leather shoe on the floor. "I've never known anything else," he said, his voice cool and thoughtful. There was not a hint of self-pity in his tone. Perhaps it was that that made her pity him even more.

Hermione didn't know what to say. Luckily she was saved from an awkward silence by the doors to the lobby swinging open. Padma Patil stood there in the emerald green robes of a Senior Healer, looking harried. Her eyes immediately landed on Draco, and she narrowed them in a glare.

"Come with me," she said sharply. "Now."

Draco stood and pulled Hermione up as well. "Hello to you too, Padma dearest – "

"Oh ho _ho_ , don't you 'Padma dearest' me," she snarled, dragging Hermione down the hallway none-too-gently as Malfoy trailed behind, still clutching her fingers protectively in his. "I haven't seen you in over a year, and I haven't got a single letter from you in seven months – _seven months,_ Draco, you didn't even think to owl me to tell me how you were doing, or if you were even still alive – "

"Merlin, Patil, don't be overdramatic," he interrupted with a sneer and a roll of his eyes. "I've been fine, I've just been busy – "

" _Fine?"_ the pretty Indian hissed as she led them both into an examination room labeled "Poison 2." "You call this," she said, gesturing to his ear, " _fine?_ You are neglecting yourself, Draco, and because of your carelessness Hermione is hurt. Hello, Hermione," she said as an aside, smiling at her genuinely through her irritation towards the blond at her back.

"Hey Padma," she said back, her voice echoing faintly in her own ears. "What's happening to me?"

"You've been poisoned, albeit minutely, because of this oaf," she said, yanking her thumb at Malfoy. "But I'm going to get you all taken care of. Sit here."

Hermione sat on the examination table and shivered at the cold material on the back of her thighs.

"Honestly, Padma, you say this like it's all my fault," Draco continued petulantly, throwing himself down in a chair and grabbing a sterile cloth to hold to his ear. "If Granger hadn't reached up there in the first place – "

"If you had bothered to drain your wound _in the first place,"_ Padma interrupted, "she wouldn't have had cause to act on her notoriously unhealthy curiosity by reaching up to touch it." She glared at Draco as she rifled through a cabinet and pulled out three bottles. "You're both at fault. Unwrap her hand, please."

Draco grumbled, but lifted the gauze from her hand and pulled it away. She shrieked when some of her skin went with it.

"Oh dear," the former Ravenclaw said. "Poor thing." She inspected the tips of Hermione's fingers and frowned. They were black and bloody, and the flesh had started to shrivel and burn. "It's not bad. You got here just in time."

Hermione looked at her incredulously. _Not bad?_ Christ. What did "bad" look like?

Padma immediately poured two of the potions into a beaker with a bit of water. She swirled it around with her wand, and then grabbed Hermione's hand and dunked all of her fingers in.

The relief was immediate. Hermione closed her eyes. "That feels much better."

Padma snorted. "I'm sure it does. I'm glad. Because this part is going to suck." She looked at Draco just as Hermione stiffened. "I don't have time to call for a mediwitch. You'll have to do. You know the drill."

Malfoy looked uncomfortable, but stood and nodded. Hermione froze as he put both of his hands on her head. His hands were cool and dry. "Sorry about this, Granger," he said with a grimace. "Just…try to relax." His voice was full of skepticism. It was not comforting.

Hermione yelped in surprise when he leaned her head back, pinched her nose, and brought his other hand down to yank open her jaw. And then there was something being poured down her throat, and Hermione screamed.

It was like swallowing acid. When Draco snapped her jaw closed Hermione panicked and lashed out, but found herself in a body-bind as Padma's cool, gentle hands stroked down her throat.

"That's it," Padma crooned softly. "You're doing great, Hermione."

Her whole body was seizing up within the body-bind curse, and her eyes rolled back into her head as the potion burned a hole through her stomach. Finally Padma released the spell holding her captive and she slumped onto the table, boneless. She groaned and coughed. Her throat felt like it had been stripped completely. Her vision swam, and tears poured down her face.

"What – "

"Don't speak, Hermione," Padma said. "Just lay there for a minute. Can I call someone for you? Potter, maybe?"

She shook her head. Harry was an incredibly busy man, and this little incident had dragged two main investigators off the case before it had even started. "Ron," she croaked out. She thought she heard Malfoy say "predictable" under his breath, but it could have been a hallucination.

"Is he on leave from quidditch?" Padma asked. Hermione nodded. "I figured he might be. Lavender is about to pop. I'll call somebody to fetch him. For now I just want you to lay down, and keep your fingers in this solution," she ordered sternly. "And every couple of minutes I want you to take small sips of water," she continued, handing Hermione a cup. "I'll get someone to sit with you until Ron gets here."

She grabbed the towel that Draco was using to staunch the flow of poisoned blood from his left ear and disposed of it in a spelled bin that incinerated its contents upon closing the lid. Then she turned to stare at him. Hermione watched through hazy eyes as each of them squared off against each other, both looking stubborn.

"This is incredibly irresponsible." The Healer's voice was quiet.

"I know," Malfoy returned tightly, looking equal parts contrite and angry.

"And stupid." Padma tapped her shoe on the tile.

"Yes," he agreed lowly.

"Now that you and I are both back in Britain I will take no excuses from you. I want you here once a week to treat the infection," she said in a business-like tone.

"Yes, Mum," Draco said irately, and Hermione couldn't help her amusement at picturing him as a sullen, rebellious teenager.

Padma smacked him on the arm. "Don't sass me," she hissed. "Get in that room. _Now."_ She pointed to a door off to the side that was labeled "Surgery." "I'll be with you as soon as I get Hermione squared away and get some assistance to help with the process. I'll have to train a couple of staff members to help me, since you know I can't do it alone."

"Nothing like spot training on the job," Draco muttered sardonically. "I'm sure they'll be thrilled. Such a pleasant procedure."

Padma just raised an eyebrow and pointed to the door, not amused. He gave Hermione one last inscrutable look, and then went through and closed the door behind him.

"That man," Padma said under her breath as she bustled around, cleaning up after herself. "Bloody child sometimes," she muttered.

Hermione grinned and looked up at the lights on the ceiling. She took a sip of water and did not respond.

The door to the hall opened a few seconds later, and a young dark-skinned wizard in the robes of a Junior Healer stepped through. Padma talked to him in hushed tones, and he left, and then came back seconds later. Then Padma came back to her bedside.

"Hermione, this is Healer Rajiv, he's my cousin," she explained. "He's new here, but I'd trust him with my life. He's going to sit with you until Weasley gets here."

Hermione nodded.

She was asleep before Padma was even out of the room.

* * *

oooo

When she woke up, she knew not much time had passed. The light was still the same outside, the sun still a couple of hours from reaching its zenith in the sky. But Rajiv was gone, and Ron sat in a chair by her bedside, slumped over so that the top of his ginger head was pressed into the side of her thigh. When she stirred, he turned his head and looked at her.

"What is it," he said hoarsely, "about you that attracts trouble so much?"

She smiled down at him, still feeling weak. She reached over to where her cup of water had been place on a table beside her. "Thank you for coming," she said, her voice raspy and raw.

Ron snorted and blinked, his soft, cornflower blue eyes full of concern, love, and no small amount of mirth. "I was bored anyway."

Hermione rolled her eyes, but brushed his hair away from his forehead. "Glad I could provide some entertainment."

He sighed. "Lavender is like…a beached whale," he said tiredly. "Merlin, I love the woman, but she's gotten as big as a barge and moves about as quick as a tree." He looked pleadingly at Hermione. "I don't think I'm meant to be a caregiver."

Hermione chuckled. "Perhaps it's not your life's calling. But you'll be a great father."

"'M nervous," he murmured. "About the birth."

She stroked a hand over his head in comfort, feeling tear ducts that had long since dried up ache with renewed grief. "I know."

"Healer Johnson said there is zero risk of anything with Lavender," he continued. "Not like it was with Gin. But still."

"It's hard," Hermione said softly. "Makes you rethink everything, doesn't it?"

"Yeah."

They sat in silence for quite some time before Hermione frowned. "Is Malfoy still around?"

Ron shook his head. "I haven't seen the git, so I assume he's still here. But a mediwitch did slip into that room a few minutes ago, and there was a hell of a lot of yelling going on." He shook his head incredulously. "Dunno what they're doing to him in there, but it doesn't sound like fun and games."

Slowly she sat up, and Ron caught onto her intentions and helped her put her feet on the floor.

"What are you doing, Hermione?" he asked wearily, looking very much like a parent with a particularly hyperactive child with a knack for getting into trouble. It was a strange bit of role-reversal, when looking back at their childhood.

She shrugged innocently. "I'm just going to check on him."

Ron crossed his arms as she stood on her feet. "Not a good idea."

She crossed the room anyway, feeling stronger with each step. Ron harrumphed from behind her, and she wondered briefly when he'd become the sensible one in the Golden Trio.

"Hasn't become any less of a bad idea, 'Mione," he said again; but his tone was resigned.

She chewed on her lip. Shouldn't she just take a peek? Just to make sure everything was all right? She liked to think it was borne of compassion and concern, rather than curiosity; over the years, she had become better at lying to herself. Before she could think her actions through – before it could occur to her that it might be a bad idea – she twisted the doorknob.

Ron was right. It _was_ a bad idea.

The noises that were being drawn from Malfoy's throat were those of the most acute suffering Hermione could have ever imagined, and they made tears spring to her eyes. She watched in horror as Padma changed out tube after tube, collecting the black venom that was being drawn from Draco's chest from a thick, nasty-looking needle.

His torso was bare, pale and marvelously sculpted in the florescent lighting of the lab; but any thought of his impressive physique flew out the window as Hermione took in the scarring on his body. A huge black welt marred the junction of his chest and shoulder on the left side, and spidery blue-black veins radiated out from the wound, traveling halfway across his chest and down his side to end at his left hip. They ran up over his rounded shoulder and down his left arm, crossing his old, faded Dark Mark and tapering off at his wrist.

It was horrifying. Strangely beautiful – like a piece of dark artwork, penned by Lucifer himself as he fell from grace – but grotesque nonetheless. It did nothing to take away from how devastatingly gorgeous Draco Malfoy was, but it was jarring, shocking, and Hermione found herself blinking away tears as vial after vial of lethal poison was drawn from his body. Padma was murmuring hushed words of comfort and encouragement as a mediwizard held Malfoy's head in a firm grip and a mediwitch ran a warm, wet cloth over and around the wound, soothing the angry skin and catching any stray venom that leaked from around the entry of the needle.

Hermione stepped away from the door just as Ron closed it. Her redheaded friend leaned back upon it, looking pale.

"I told you it wasn't a good idea," he breathed with a grimace. "Bloody hell."

Hermione pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes. "Merlin, Ron, look at what we've _done_ to him – "

Ron chucked her under the chin none-too-gently, and she brought her hands away from her eyes and blinked up at him. He frowned. "Uh-uh, none of that," he said sternly. "We didn't do anything to him, 'Mione. An acromantula did that – not you, not me, not Harry."

"Yes, but he wouldn't be suffering like that if it weren't for us – " She continued tearily.

He interrupted her again. "It was his choice, Hermione. I'm not saying that I don't feel poorly about it," he said reluctantly, scratching his chin and looking uncomfortable, "but we can't assume guilt for what's happened to him." He fixed her with his warm blue stare. "And I think we need to keep this between us. He would be furious if he knew we'd seen, and he'll be even more furious if we tell anyone. It's not our business. It's not anyone else's, either."

Hermione gave him a watery smile. He was right, of course. It was odd, sometimes, realizing how time had matured them. Ron had grown up while she wasn't looking – while she wasn't paying attention.

"You're right," she said quietly. "Let's go. I need to get back to the Ministry and tell Harry what's going on. I have a lot of work to do."

"Confidential?" Ron guessed as they pushed through the door.

Hermione nodded in assent. "New case."

"It have anything to do with what happened last night?" he asked.

She sighed. "You know I can't tell you anything, Ronald. But you're on the right track, I'll put it that way."

Just then Healer Rajiv entered, and smiled at her. "I can see you're feeling better," he said in a heavily accented voice. "Let me check your hand."

She lifted it up from her side, noticing that the tips of her fingers still throbbed faintly but felt much better than they had before. The Indian straightened her fingers out and then pressed down on her wounded digits. She hissed.

"They'll be tender for a couple of days," the healer said. "And they might scar." He handed her a jar with a blue paste inside. "Put this on the affected area every night before bed, and wrap it up in this," he finished, handing her a roll of gauze. "Try not to do anything that might tear the skin back open, and avoid exposure to excessive heat." He smiled at her. "And keep yourself out of trouble."

Hermione nodded, feeling bashful. It was not often she felt stupid; those times were few and far between. Her fingers didn't hurt nearly as bad as her bruised pride.

"Thank you," Ron said when she seemed at a loss for words. "I'm going to get her home to rest for a while. We appreciate all your help, and give Padma our thanks as well."

"I will," Rajiv said. "Hope the rest of your day goes better for you."

And then Ron was guiding her out into the hallway, tugging at her uninjured hand like she was a child. She scowled, and yanked her hand from his grip.

"I can't go home," she said petulantly. "I told you I had to go back to the office."

Ron rolled his eyes. "I figured a little white lie wouldn't hurt anyone. I doubt Padma or her cousin would approve of you going back to work." He shrugged. "Sometimes a fib or two helps smooth the way."

She looked at him askance. "You sly dog!" she said with a grin.

He winked. "Sometimes I miss the mischief of our childhood. Are you okay to floo by yourself?" he asked as they reached the lobby.

She nodded. "The potion they gave me seems to have cleared my head back up." She turned to him, and hugged him around the waist. He stroked his hand over her hair. "Thanks, Ronald," she said quietly.

"We're family," he responded easily. "Love you, 'Mione."

She let him go and stepped back to give him a brilliant smile. "Love you, too. I'll see you at dinner on Tuesday. Give Lavender my love."

"Will do," he said with a wave. She beamed at him one last time, and then she whirled away in a flash of green flames.

* * *

oooo

"Christ, Hermione, do you have any _idea_ how worried I was?"

Hermione sighed and tipped her head back against the chair, staring at the ceiling in Harry's office and feeling tired.

"I'm sorry," she said with exasperation. "I didn't have time to explain it to anyone. I'm glad Ron sent you a Patronus to ease your fears – but I really didn't want to bother you with it," she said tiredly. "You've got a lot on your plate. Speaking of the case – "

"We can talk about that later," he barked, slipping easily into his "boss mode," as Ginny had liked to call it. He sat down at his chair and glared at her. "Tell me what happened."

She sighed, and told him the story, from the elevator to the hospital to her arrival back at headquarters. She left out the part where she almost had a heart attack when Malfoy had openly admitted that he'd once been attracted to her. That was a strange complication she would keep to herself.

Harry rubbed at his nose like he always did when his contacts were bothering him. "When did you become so bloody reckless?" he said wearily.

She huffed. "As if you're any better, Harry James Potter," she replied. "Remember the Greyjoy case a few months ago?" she said with a raised eyebrow.

"We're not talking about me," he growled impatiently. "We're talking about you."

"Oh, well how convenient," she muttered sarcastically. She blinked tiredly. "Can we just forget about this and worry about the case?"

He sighed, and slumped in his chair. "With each passing minute I feel more anxious about this case," he hedged. "I have a bad feeling in my stomach."

Hermione swallowed. Harry's instincts were notoriously good. She couldn't think of a single time that he'd had a gut feeling that ended up being wrong – not since they were nearly killed by Nagini in Godric's Hollow all those years ago.

"Maybe you've got a bug?" she suggested weakly. She shrugged. He looked at her skeptically, and she deflated. "Yeah, alright."

"I want to talk to Parkinson," he said, steepling his fingers and frowning. "I need to know Rolf better. First things first, we need to dig into his life. He wasn't known for being particularly forthcoming. We'll need to get everything we can from Parkinson."

"I'll talk to Blaise about getting a warrant for his office," she added. "Now that the manor is gone, that's all that we have left to search."

"Can you arrange to talk to his secretary?" Harry asked.

"He doesn't have one."

Hermione turned so quickly that her neck popped, and she winced. Malfoy stood leaning against the doorjamb, looking pale but otherwise unfazed. His mismatched eyes were clear and focused.

"Malfoy," Harry said lowly in acknowledgement. "Alright?"

The blond nodded. "Fine. Just popped on over to St. Mungo's for a physical." A smirk played around his mouth. Hermione rolled her eyes as Harry grinned.

"What do you mean he doesn't have one?" she asked brusquely, getting back to business before she could become distracted with how stupidly handsome he was.

"Weismeiner never allowed anyone close to him in his work," Malfoy said casually, stepping further into the office when Harry waved him in. He shut the door behind him, and Hermione warded it with a wave of her wand just in case. "He was secretive, and didn't trust anyone to do things the right way. He handled everything himself."

Harry arched a brow. "That seems like it would be totally inefficient," he drawled. "How could he have headed up an entire _department_ without having an assistant of some sort?"

Draco shrugged, and sat in the chair next to her. "He spent ungodly amounts of time working. Rarely had time for anything else. He has people that work under him, of course, but all of the important things he did himself. He wasn't very trusting."

"He was a German in England," Harry said with a grimace.

"So he wasn't trusting," Hermione repeated aloud. "Would you say he was trust _worthy?"_ She looked at Malfoy expectantly.

He frowned in thought. "He could be counted on to do his job," he hedged. "Would I trust him with my innermost thoughts and feelings? No. He was the type that could hold information over your head for a very long time."

Harry hummed. "Patient," he commented.

"Very," Draco confirmed with a nod. "Patient, quiet, smart."

"And you said he wasn't particularly kind," Hermione suggested quietly.

"No, he wasn't." A muscle jumped in his jaw. "Not a great husband, or father. And I imagine he didn't have many friends, if any at all. You might have to get in touch with the German Ministry, see if they can shed any light on what he was like as a German national. And talk to Durmstrang, check his school records for anything odd."

Harry looked at Hermione. "Do you still have access to Lana Weber from the Frankfurt case a couple of years ago?"

"We got lunch last time she was in town a few months ago," Hermione said with a nod. "I'll send her an owl."

Malfoy cleared his throat. "I'm familiar with Headmaster Orlikoff from Durmstrang," he hedged. "I could give him a floo call this evening, if you like."

Harry's bright eyes glittered with approval. "Excellent. Hermione, are you still planning on running back to Grimmauld at lunch?"

She nodded. "I need to grab some things for Parkinson. And I figured I might bring her something nice for lunch."

Harry stood, and they followed suit. "Get Malfoy acquainted with the department. Introduce him to people you think warrant an introduction. Make it quick. I'd like the two of you to run down to the Daily Prophet before lunch break. Get Skeeter and Parvati in a private meeting." He cleared his throat. "Have you filled Malfoy in?"

Draco looked at her expectantly, and she flushed under his stare. "Filled me in?"

"Erm, publicity," she said, reaching up to rub at her eyes before remembering she'd worn makeup today. "Harry and I are going to accompany you places. To…smooth the way for you, as it were."

His nostrils flared, and his irritation sparked in his eyes, but he nodded slowly in acceptance. "Probably a good idea." He paused, and grimaced. "I'm not going to have to smile at you both and look all cheery, am I?"

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," she countered dryly. "We don't want to melt people's brains. Let's keep it simple."

"And believable," Harry muttered in agreement.

Draco smiled, and it actually reached his eyes. "Good."

oooo

* * *

 **So, that's that. Drop a line to let me know what you think! Next chapter will be up probably by the middle of February. I don't have update schedules for** _ **any**_ **of my stories at the moment, so I can't be trusted with consistency. Just sayin'.**

 **Thanks for reading!**

 **xoxo**

 **Giraffe :)**


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